Indian Summer

My Indian Summer Day

.

You must have been a gift, a reward, for 

surely some things are earned, or just deserved? 

The martins are breeding one last time, the

bees and butterflies proliferate and 

though full to bursting, even the river

relaxes, glinting so sweetly in the 

sunshine, its tune so melodious, that 

now even the aspens are applauding.

More an answered prayer than a dream or wild 

imagining, you are the summer season’s final fling

before the knife of winter slowly slides its way in.

So it's a wish-you-were-here kind of day,

a red-shoes-on-get-up-and-go kind of day, 

when to be alive or just bathe in the sun is all I 

could ever hope for or would ever, ever need.

Cait O’Connor