Last bee

August pinks chime

in winnowing wind

corn dust shimmers

 

as last bees forage.

 

I’ve rushed through

summer: never looking

back

 

always reaching for

something.

 

August palette links

Monet to stardust;

nature bursts with

 

fullness;

 

I glide with eyes

wide open to the ‘’now’’

of ‘’it ‘’…….

 

forget to blink in case

I wake to autumn’s frosty

face

 

one hazy morning.

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