A Summer's Eve

An ode to the season

The gods stoke

hot coals on the horizon,

clouds become embers,

a crimson glow.

The cricket orchestra chitters

and mosquitoes leave

love bites on exposed skin

that need not hide

from the usual cold of night.

For the wind blows hot,

the twilight hour becomes

twilight hours. Daylight has stretched

as far as it can, and it wears

every single colour as it parades

across the criss-cross of the

River Thames.

A bottle of wine is shared

on the bank, among long grass

and beside dear friends. An evening

that could have no end, a season

I wish would last as long as I do.

There I go again. Hoping to

capture something beautiful in a

glass ball, or a photograph,

or a song. To kill that which

I wish to hold,

which I am already holding.