A poem about summer

Sweat mustaches and all.

This past week was the first to feel like summer, despite the solstice being a few weeks away. Yesterday hit 90 degrees, and as I collapsed into a chair before dinner, I felt my eyes become heavy and my mind confirm that I could absolutely fall asleep if I gave myself permission to. Despite working only periodically outside (weeding, moving rocks, planting more flowers) the sun sucked the energy out of every corner of my body. The windows have been pushed open each night at dusk, and the freckles have sprinkled across my forearms like stardust.

Last summer, I wrote a little poem about this time of year. Today, I’m sharing it for your enjoyment.

Upper Lip Sweat

Humidity has arrived
and with it, the need
to work in spurts outside, 
to carry canteens
of water at your hip,
to wear a bandana, 
if not specifically for your upper lip,
to change your shirt
every few hours,
and give the laundry basket
permission to overflow.

On the heaviest days 
the clouds are thick
and white, with gray
swaths that hang low,
an opaque offering
of relief, they release
rain in sheets,
thunder in booms,
a song for the fields,
a dance for whatever
benevolent gods exist.

When the weight
lifts, we celebrate
the breeze with meals
on the patio
and a jug of sun tea;
we take our time
on afternoon walks
and turn off the A.C.,
sleeping with windows wide 
and limbs touching.

Luna feeling the heat this week.