Summer each year so we must
Grow all that we can
It is not easy
To enter each day ready
To learn the hard way
August: The Grinder
Each morning feels earlier
Each dusk sore and spent
August is sweeter
Buried under tomatoes
A gift of wild grapes
How fortunate to
Spend my days side by side with
Loved ones with questions
To spend my summer
With new faces taking turns
Asking "Is this it?"
"Is this the right way?"
"Is this the time to harvest it?"
"Are these the weeds?"
Weeds weeds weeds weeds weeds
Weeds weeds weeds weeds weeds weeds weeds
Weeds weeds weeds weeds weeds
We are tilting now
Toward shorter days and cool nights
Or that illusion
Days can be fickle
Impossible to predict
At this time of year
Let the melon juice
Run down your chin. Relish that.
It does not last long.
Enjoy the harvest,
Dan, for the farm staff
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