A Day About Nothing

Most of the oak leaves are brown already, and will probably be coming down earlier than usual this year. Tonight they are perfectly still, and, but for a few weak strays, will remain in place. I try to imagine the wind to come and fail. Despite the touch of coolness in the air, autumn still seems like a dream vaguely recalled rather than a certainty that approaches. I sit and listen to the crickets, the only things that stir on this soporific late summer night. Despite the crickets reminding it of its inevitable passage, time is just hanging around, as though it had nothing to do, nowhere to be. Or is that just me?


( Sunday Verse )