dog day musings

still August but a bit of

fall is springing in the air

during seconds in the

shade by St. Augustine

which survives in any heat

…hope…there’s hope…

my new year always begins

in the fourth quarter

…listen for the marching band’s

practice tomorrow morning

…I forget this every year

until surprise smacks me

after the drought and channels more words

buzzing in the left brain

waiting for a nudge from the right

brain while dodging squadrons

of giant dragonflies that the

aerial spray didn’t kill

…happy they’re alive

…not the graceful lacey ones

…hordes of them like black ops 'copters

…perhaps the strongest to survive or

perhaps ones strengthened by the poison somehow—

bizarrely, like the green grass that grew one

August in Hiroshima

…still, there’s hope

…a Mayberry day

…walking the chihuahua who’d

love to chew away the leash

and make me work for this walk

…a Mayfield day

…even the tree trimmer’s red rig

like old Gus’s fire truck

…transcendence to a time

before the towers came down

to a time which needed no towers

…or so I think…

23 August 2012