August 30, 2011

before August goes
 
Let me remember the vivid hue of the baseball green and the Little Leaguers
timid but determined at the plate. The thin film of pollen
dusting the pond late afternoon. The knocking of two woodpeckers
on the porch roof. The crunch of moviehouse popcorn. Leaves, fallen
after a thundershower, and the carpet they made of the driveway.
The view from Mt. Ida and Sugarloaf and Holyoke. Rainbow Chicklets.
Slices of tomato flecked with sea salt and ground pepper. The smells of hay
and mint and barbecue. How the light changes, incremental, until the crickets
come out. The loose threads of cutoff shorts. Lemonade stands. An ice cream drip.
And time trickling out, not a threat or cautionary tale but permission slip.