Thanks for stopping by. Welcome. We've reached the beginning of the end of Summer. Due to lack of local rain, there's a perpetual haze of dust in the air over the class 5 aggregate surfacing country roads. It settles on the plants growing in the ditches and the rural mailboxes. The Minnesota State Fair starts a week from today with forecast temperatures promising this sultry season will go out in a blaze of glory, or at least a blaze. Back to School sales are already advertised. But, before Summer completes its winding down, and Autumn takes over, bringing apples and pumpkins and Jack-O-Lanterns and turkeys and The Circle Game and The Urge for Going, we have yet to experience Summer's end, as nicely captured in this poem. To help with any nostalgia triggered by the passing of another season, keep in mind that the author of this poem became poet laureate of the United States at 95. He was still actively publishing and promoting poetry at the time. For those of us who have already seen many Summers come and go, that's a really encouraging prospect.
End of Summer
An agitation of the air,A perturbation of the lightAdmonished me the unloved yearWould turn on its hinge that night.I stood in the disenchanted fieldAmid the stubble and the stones,Amazed, while a small worm lisped to meThe song of my marrow-bones.Blue poured into summer blue,A hawk broke from his cloudless tower,The roof of the silo blazed, and I knewThat part of my life was over.Already the iron door of the northClangs open: birds, leaves, snowsOrder their populations forth,And a cruel wind blows.