I feel it first on early August mornings,
that hint of fall in the air.
The spiders begin to spin their webs
from tree to tree,
and look for ways
to come inside
and live with me.
Tourist traffic is falling off,
a huge relief.
They move so fast;
their summers are
too brief.
The wildfires rage;
we keep a watchful eye
in search of rain
from an ungiving sky.
The animals who survived
the flames
are coming into the towns
the people fled.
So many homeless,
with and without fur.
We fooled ourselves
that this would not occur.
Yet on we go,
living our spendthrift ways,
as if we were not living out
apocalyptic days.
Sigh. My tired old theme, for Desperate Poets prompt: Summer's End.
It must very apocalyptic over there in Canada right now. Here we are beginning to warm up and already the authorities are warning us of a difficult fire season ahead. There's still work to be done hey - as you say 'we go on' speaking, writing, thinking, forging pathways into the unknown. Thanks for following my new blog - Suzanne
ReplyDeleteApocalyptic days is correct... and the way the world is just marching on, some people still denying climate change, is quite unbelievable.
ReplyDeleteThe craziness of such poetry reflects the time, its inordinante positions of summer pleasure and apocalypse. We drip from the lake the burnt animals salve in.
ReplyDeleteDo not tire from singing that song which needs sung Sherry. It is not tired. It is required.
ReplyDeleteHey Sherry - I love this poem. It is dark, yet authentic. It speaks to our situation her in the capital as well. Fires, floods, homeless people even out in the suburbs.
ReplyDeleteHard apocalyptic days.
"an ungiving sky," indeed. Or else one that gives more than we can take. The balance is forever thrown off and all things seem spinning out of kilter, so well reflected here in your words, Sherry. I love the line about the spiders.
ReplyDeleteYes, it seems nothing much changes. We hope for changes, but it seems the world will not escape the apocalyptic fate.
ReplyDelete