shadow

A Fond Farewell To Summer

Dawn Watcher

Sometime during the night

a thunderstorm breaks.

I awake and walk through the dark house

on tiptoes.

On the porch I sit and listen

to the cicadas and the trucks, miles away,

groaning on the highway.

A wave of rain washes over the sound.

The first morning bird twitters faintly.

It is not yet time to add human voices.

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