A salute to August

Dear Editor:


When February has us in her grip

With numb fingers and frozen lips.

We remember the one true month of summer.

In our my mind’s eye at the wharf’s edge we linger

Beneath our feet high tide slaps at the pilings

The deck quivers bait barrels shimmy Lobster traps squeak

Wailing gulls overhead circle and dive

Silhouettes in a clear blue sky.

Floating colors awash in the bay and sails fill the horizon.

Inland is a swaying multitude of green fir and spruce.

Gray and white hardwood guard a dusty road.

A yellow shore hosts a family soaking up the sun.

Woodsmoke of Lobsters cooking butter on the melt.

Yells, yelps and happy sounds drift across the way.

Your time alone is done, you must return.

Back to the knee-deep snow and cold days.

Rocky Stenger


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