Still Summer....

The electric buzz of cicadas in the late summer
woods; signals for the season, just as are the
goldenrod, Queen Anne's lace, asters and dangling
red, and the white berries of baneberries;
beware and bemoan the swift passage of carefree,
warm days in the northern-climate country more
given to sleet, snow and freezing rain events;
ice fogs that spell danger, and months huddling
for warmth indoors, removed from our great
northern outdoors that only the pioneering spirit
met full on, and the latter-day sport-minded
youth revelling in challenge to athletic prowess.

But yet, it is summer still, even with its
bitter-sweet anticipation of waning days - and
the high-pitched shriek of hawks whirling the
wind, to the family of crows sifting their wide,
dark wings through the elderly trees, following
our progress from the moment we descended
the first long hill into the ravine, until an hour
later we ascended it through a network of trails
taking us to past day's jaunt, satisfying themselves
of our curious presence in their natural element.
Their clever curiosity far surpassing our ability
to even notionally hazard their purpose.

Bees settle on the soft mauve flowers of clover
and the bright yellow of sunflowers. Butterflies
linger lazily on the petals of errant fleabane,
daisies, cowvetch, reluctant to depart the season
for yet another year. Squirrels have been busy
in their forage and winter layaway plans, the trails
littered with oak twigs, green leaves surrounding
the remains of immature acorns. A scarlet arrow
shoots across the trail, then another as a cardinal
follows its mate. A rabbit sits quietly on the trail,
soon to disappear into a patchwork of nettles.