A Change of Pace

There’s a flock of starlings overhead,
Their chorus a raucous song,
Back from the north where they come from
More than a thousand strong.
And the grey geese fly in formation
Their deltas across the sky.
And I nod in their direction
As they go flying by.

The garden vines are still bearing
But no one comes for their fruit.
Although they’ve provided all summer long,
We ‘re weary of their loot.
Now some of the branches are withered,
And weeds grow among the rows.
Only the squirrels take notice,
And what they do nobody knows.

I sit now on the front porch swing.
The morning was cloudy and cool,
Unseasonable for late August,
Which is blistering as a rule.
Although we will still see hot mornings,
They won’t seem as hot after this one.
For summer’s back has been broken,
Making way for the Autumn to come.