August

Yesterday I sat outside in velvet dusk, my wooden front step bleacher seats front row to summer’s nightly show and I was grieved to find that the fireflies were gone. Nearby, an old dead tree rejoiced though. Autumn can’t come soon enough. Stark skeleton, sticking out like a sore thumb among the limber loose limbed flourishing green leaves. But not for much longer and no more waiting, for the season of leafless. No more waiting to blend in with the still living. Lights out for lightning bugs, yes. But as summer ends, life begins again for old dead trees.