Summer's Fall

Summer's Fall

Trees still clinging to leaves,
say “Savor the last of light--
Don’t drop! Don’t drop!”

The cicadas have all died.
Leaving just a few stubborn moths
flitting around in the sun,

still cold from the previous night,
shaking the last of the morning dew.
In this moment of finality, I awaken.

My attention, crisp as the air,
is savored as the cool light
that spills through the open areas of the trees,

where the leaves have already taken their dance
to the ground, at my feet,
where I stand connected to the earth.