Thank You Summer 2014

Leaving so soon?
Really?
Must you go?
If so
allow my gratitude to follow you
wherever it is you fade off to
every year about this time.
I'm inclined
to pause and remember paws,
tiny and cool on my sun-warmed skin,
receiving nuts and giving simple moments of cheer.
And drawing near
in the spectacular spaces of dawnings and dusks,
flat water and rusks.
And foxes dashing by.
And trying not to cry
at the sheer wonder of family
altogether in one space.
To have the space to breathe
to rest
to read and feed my soul
on rocks, my sockless feet
soaking in the heat of the day
soaked in by the granite.
Best place on the planet.
That was Summer Act One.

Summer Act Two.
Home with you
still outside because I can't abide
to be indoors doing chores.
Patio or pond
I am fond of the birds
and writing words to journal the journey
of my soul, being whole, and not rushed
but hushed, still.
Except when fun chugs in
and we ride the train,
avoiding the rain.
Or a tree comes down
and we own the wood,
piling our satisfaction in stacks
against the winter.

Three celebrations, one for 87,
one for 36,
one for ten years.
No fears going forward,
just God's goodness to trust.

And now, you're leaving
and I'm disbelieving
that it's really that time
again.
Calendars are ready,
plans are steady,
but still.
Maybe you will
visit, on warm days,
when, my friend,
I'll pretend you haven't left.

Thank you, Summer 2014,
and the Father who sent you
and bent you to be
what I needed.