I know the cicadas will be gone soon.
The last of the silky-green hummingbirds
Gather around the sugar-water,
their wings never stopping.

The dying of summer always sits on my lips
like an awakening
Crisp mornings and evenings full of life
It signals hope and connection

For when is the majesty of this mundane world
so apparent if it is not when leaves,
Chameleons all,
burn so brightly?

Against an expanse of sky, I cast off
the burdens of heat I’ve suffered and
only just now enter the time of shedding; of loss;
Of Becoming.