Desert reds and coastal greens.
The switchback urges higher.
Hawks float in on ocean air.
Wasps maneuver.
How yellow the moths are this year.
The still heat of August is never free
From the longing for loves remembered,
The sadness of dreams that remain.
Leaves that were missing a moment ago
Are everywhere shaking
To make visible the first sign of breeze.
I was too enamored of the quiet heights,
The slow walk with quick moving flies
To notice what hung like a thought
So long it disappeared.
Eyes hide under stiff leaves.
So much has happened
Without them moving.
