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      Greylock Independent

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      You are here: Home / Arts and Culture / Indian Summer

      Indian Summer

      October 11, 2016 -

      By Sarah Sutro

      these days
      could be summers
      summoned
      any time,
      a round of endless
      profusion

       

      clouds fleece
      over the channel
      like charmed
      portents
      weeds run wild
      with no rain
      the hardier flowers
      have taken over
      echinacea, rose,
      daisy,
      subtler
      counterparts
      gone,
      unable to cope
      with the dry
      spell,
      water
      listless in the
      river though the
      sound is always
      there –

       

      celebrate this
      time –
      make the most of it,
      the wanton,
      lush ebullience
      never time to
      think
      of passing
      not even
      of summer’s
      efflorescence

       

      words falter –
         bird dives
         from the roof –
         black-edged wings,
         sun coming through his
         light feathers
      questions turn and spin
      like birds –
      burst
      out from the gutters
      in a heavy thudding
      of wings –
      then gone

      yellow black-edged susans,
      smudge of yellow
      against green –
      the spiking candlestick
      plant,
      also called mullein
      rising as high as a fencepost
      in one field, tall
      sentinels
      of wildness

       

      memory keeper,
      loved one,
      ultimate friend,
      how long we’ve
      been
      together

       

      blue eggs keep rising in my mind’s eye –
      every other week a
      minor miracle:
      you discovered
      you could buy them
      directly,
      from the farmer –
      met in – of all places –
      the Walmart parking lot –
      two dozen
      for six dollars.

       

      pile them gently into
      the wire container,
      designed to snugly protect,
      no breakage –
      their perfect
      form
      their dusty blue, blue-green,
      blue grey, brown
      roundness:
      I am looking at the whole
      universe. I am looking at
      our gentle past,
      at love

       

       

      [Sarah Sutro lives in
      North Adams and
      is the author of
      COLORS:
      Passages through Art, Asia and Nature]

      Filed Under: Arts and Culture

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