At Noon of August

While mood-enmeshed in subtleties of sound, in wind-webs winding ditties of delight with dip-down, updrift revel all around, I let a siren summer trap me tight. While leaves soliloquized in cryptic song and twigs were tinkling August air with tune, I leaned to listen, lifted, lured along, ensnared by nuances of August noon. Now Im am air, unanchored, flowing free; now I, entangled in a tryst with tone, become the wind-wove tempo in the tree, the blue that hoards the bird chat, I alone. While noon of August tethers me in thrall I apprehend this autumn, hold it all.

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