the evenings are drawing in.
The sound of Jack Johnson
meanders through the open window
while you weed
and trade chat about plans
for summer holidays in winter.
I dream of a translucent warm sea
with a surfeit of tropical fish.
no more will its bent seedheads
bob in the evening’s humidity.
Even the vibrancy of the calla lilies
are consigned to wither
in the heat of the compost.
Like these flowers will in days,
Jack’s song fades as we
envision warmth in winter.
2 comments:
ah jack--the new summer staple.
lovely poem leigh. makes me want to plan a summer holiday! hmmn, where would i go if i could go anywhere?
the green river--washington's snoqualmie valley.
Thank you Katy, my summer holiday in winter is only 8 more weeks away! :)
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