Last bee

August pinks chime

in winnowing wind

corn dust shimmers


as last bees forage.


I’ve rushed through

summer: never looking



always reaching for



August palette links

Monet to stardust;

nature bursts with




I glide with eyes

wide open to the ‘’now’’

of ‘’it ‘’…….


forget to blink in case

I wake to autumn’s frosty



one hazy morning.

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