Late Summer

All afternoon the heat presses down
like a hand that refuses to lift.

The fields lie still.
Even the insects seem tired of their work.
Grass pales at the edges,
and the road shimmers as if it might dissolve.

This is the season that pretends
it will last forever.

The sun stands over everything,
bright and indifferent.

But already something is changing.

A wind moves through the reeds
with a different voice.
Leaves answer softly.

In the orchards the fruit has grown heavy.
Branches bend toward the earth.
Even the light has begun to soften.

Soon the evenings will open
like cool rooms.

The air will loosen.
The long fever will pass.

We will walk again beside the water,
feeling the salt wind rise off the sea,
watching gulls wheel in the gray sky.

Nothing dramatic happens.

The world simply turns.

And in that turning
summer releases its grip,
while autumn—quietly, patiently—
takes the land back.