High Summer

High summer. 

The Rose Moon is past and the Thunder Moon is yet to come. 

We are in the days of the Heat Moon.

When tomatoes swell and their cheeks blush red.

The daylilies sway in the breeze.

Children marinate themselves in chlorine by day

then play hide and seek as the fireflies appear.

Days of iced tea languor

and ice cream evenings. 

And maybe a dance beneath the stars

as Etta James melts the stereo

and the tendrils within

unfurl

and relax.