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Summer, passed

It was hot last weekend,
          Labor Day,
          the last weekend before the schools started a new year.

The humidity hung in the air like steam,
          surrounding our bodies,
          sticking to our skin.

Cicadas chirped—
          like the sprinklers of our youth:
          tut          tut          tut          tut
          tut          tut          tut          tut
          —sounding like they, themselves, hoped for cool water.

The orange cat slept outside,
          soaked up the sun and heat,
          dreamt of catching the squirrels that chattered in the trees,
                                            the birds that hopped on the fence;
          eyes half open, ready to pounce if the hunt was on,
          until, hot to the touch, he smelt of warmth and fur.

The kids of the neighborhood ran and played,
          games with no beginning or end or rules that adults understood,
          shouting and squealing,
          occasionally crying with a skinned knee or hurt feeling.

Today, it is cool—
          pouring rain,
          seemingly ceaseless—
                    wind throwing the drops like pellets against the window,
                              tree branches slapping the sides of the house,
                              then a metallic scraping as they pull from the siding.

Even inside we are cold,
          wrapped in warm clothes,
          snuggling under a throw.

The orange cat guides me upstairs to the bed,
          pushes against me as if he cannot get close enough,
          curls himself into the tightest ball of fur.

Summer is abruptly done.
Published inPoetry