The wonder of summer. . .
Do I hear crickets
in the mix?
The muted freeway roar
is surely there. . .
the buzzing of
particularly buzzy
motor vehicles in the distance.
The late evening sky,
which I spy
through window blinds and panes
faded about as pale gray
as it’s going to get,
before ceding
to night blue.
The quiet
I appreciate,
and the calm cool air
that enters gently through the window
and strokes my back
through the bright T-shirt on my body,
where it is not pressing against the chair
behind me
as I write
and contemplate
how sweet this very moment can be,
when I only pause
to breathe it in.
The Danforth Anchor 