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