All around, the grasses sway copper and flax,
Warm and honeyed; while a thousand phantom
Cicadas zither their wings in vibrating
Song. The tips of the nodding sedge have turned
Pink, while the timothy and heather, pewter
And tin. The air, filled with the scent of dust
Rising, sticky in the heat. Grasshoppers dart
Across bristly plumes, clicking their heels.
The rhythmic hum and buzz of summer’s end.
Bees and bees sucking at the triumph of it all.