ode to summer goes something like this:

you began slowly friend,
such a timid, mild beginning
I almost begged you to
turn it up a notch
so we wouldn’t need to light the fire
put on socks, wipe dripping noses

but then a few weeks later
we were in a heatwave, sweating -
and so began the irregular
shape of you this time:
hot and cold
dry and wet
smokey and clear
back and forth
again,

You’re circles around the mulberry tree
staining our fingers blood red on berries
prickles from the blackberry brambles,

You’re eagles soaring above our heads
and we marvel at your beauty
and your cunning, picking our chickens
off like popcorn,

You’re the mosquitoes we hear buzzing
around our heads at night,
always one we missed,
the damp air and the red bites
on my children’s faces

You’re the beautiful stone fruit
apricots, peaches, nectarines,
plums, pineapple, mangoes
zucchinis from friends,
the first from our own garden:
first vegetables grown in this place -
You’re the clothes that dry stiff on the line,
the bare feet and brown shoulders,
the sun on my cheeks, light on my face -

You’re the waxy sedum,
the tall hollyhocks, the mass
of pink valerian, the wavering lavender
the frenzied sound of flies
of bees, moths, wasps -

You’re the country shrouded in smoke
the land that burned (some still smouldering)
the loss of creature, plant, life, livlihoods
to great to count, so big to bear
omnicide we said,

You’re the confusion,
the disbelief, the knowing
our climate is changing,
people diverging
lamenting, regenerating -

You’re that time my family visited
when we ventured outside after dinner -
it was still light, and we basked
(all nine of us)
in the warm dusk:
sprawling on the grass
on the veranda,
reclining, chatting,
strumming a guitar -

We revelled in the blessing
of being able to gather like
we never could at our old home -

the soft grass, green leafy shade
space and peacefulness
a time I will tuck under my skin
to remember always,
our shared contentment