Summer Waits (a poem)

Summer is taking her own sweet time to appear here on the edges of the Rockies. Rain falls today. Apple blossom petals that never truly burst forth into magical frothy wonder, fall. The long grass, the grass that was cut only a week ago, catches each snowy white blossom blanketing the yard like snow in winter.

This poem is the poem I posted (or attempted to post) on Wednesday. Yet, in waiting to post it (again) it is no longer the poem I posted on Wednesday. It has changed. Like the weather. Like the seasons. Like life. It has had time to settle, to evolve, to grow.

We are looking for heat here on the prairies. Waiting for summer to appear. And while I know it cannot stay away forever, it sure feels like it might as rain falls and apple blossoms drift to the ground.

Summer Waits

I lay dreaming,
dreaming
of that place
where summer’s
supple heat
embraces
me
and I fall
head first
into love
rioting in a garden of colour.

Summer is hiding,
hiding
somewhere
at the edge
of spring
lingering
in frosty memory
where winter
clings to naked boughs
and fields
lay
fallow
beneath a woolen blanket.

In my dream,
summer bursts
full bloom
body ripened
fecund
lush
flowering
and I run
naked
hot
body
labored
breathing
gasping
for air
beneath the heat
of summer’s
searing gaze.

Summer waits
and I wait for her.