Enjoying the last days of warm sun. Miss the long days with wind in my hair and sand in my shoes.
The last days of summer are so fleeting, wistful of
long, warm sunny days that call upon a bit of poetry.
by Howard Nemerov
Day after day, day after still day,
The summer has begun to pass away.
Starlings at twilight fly clustered and call,
And branches bend, and leaves begin to fall.
The meadow and the orchard grass are mown,
And the meadowlark’s house is cut down.
The little lantern bugs have doused their fires,
The swallows sit in rows along the wires.
Berry and grape appear among the flowers
Tangled against the wall in secret bowers,
And cricket now begins to hum the hours
Remaining to the passion’s slow procession
Down from the high place and the golden session
Wherein the sun was sacrificed for us.
A failing light, no longer numinous,
Now frames the long and solemn afternoons
Where butterflies regret their closed cocoons.
We reach the place unripe, and made to know
As with a sudden knowledge that we go
Away forever, all hope of return
Cut off, hearing the crackle of the burn-
ing blade behind us, and the terminal sound
Of apples dropping on the dry ground.
A wonderful secret cove hidden across the bay
from my old stomping grounds. Now and again
I miss this place and I start think about the
hidden gems. Just west of the Golden Gate,
Kirby Cove is a secluded, beautiful beach,
with a spectacular view of the bridge, and
far away from the hustle of the city. If you
have the opportunity to enjoy it, do.