August with its
wild, sweeping curtains of fog and mist
that cover and lift, and cover and lift
And the rain,
the relentless, unceasing rain
that pounds and punishes the earth,
the sludge on roads
from hillsides that slide
in slow motion, upending
full grown trees left rootless
in brutal aftermath.
And when the rains hold,
the heavy humid heat that
oppresses and threatens
yet more rain.
Plath called it the odd uneven time;
the rain reigns most days in August.
Blogger's Note: To celebrate my retirement after 40 years of teaching English lit. at college this August, I thought I'd post one of my own writings. I hope to use my new free time to bring out a book or two, perhaps even an anthology of some of the writings collected here.
Let's see how things go.
