and speaking of summer...(a spontaneous poem thing)
________________________________________________
 
summer will not leave
in a dazzling burst
nor disappear with the last bell
of the ice cream truck
 
it will drip slowly away
like a soft serve cone
floating on red, green, yellow balloons
at country harvest fairs
 
it will still sparkle on frog ponds
singing at sunset
and whisper through warm pines
following the osprey home
 
and when the pumpkin gives
its crooked tooth smile
it will be the August sun
that twinkles in its eye
 
                                © Chuck Beals 2001