Now, I'm not a poet, but every now and then a haiku peeks around the corner in my mind and I have to snag it. While I was sitting on my porch on Saturday afternoon, I caught the one above.
It was as perfect a summer day as I hope to see. The temperature was somewhere in the 80s. The air was clear, the sky a brilliant blue.
The neighborhood was quiet, so quiet. I suppose everyone had left for a last, end-of-summer, Labor-Day-weekend fling. It was so quiet that all I heard was cicadas, doing their buzzing call-and-response. One hummingbird came to the feeder, but didn't stay long. I imagine she is preparing for her trip to a southern place in the sun.
In a week or ten days, I will give up on the hummingbirds, wash the feeder, and put it away till spring. Then I'll haul the heavy bedclothes to the laundromat, wash them, and store them away for that first cold snap.
Because it's coming. Just as, when we're young, we never think we'll be old, we can expect a chill in the air before long. Some morning fog. The typical autumn rains, which we truly need here.
But I'm holding onto my perfect Saturday, and hoping for a few more shining days before autumn sets in.