Summer’s End. {poetry}
{source}
Weather’s changing
water’s two degrees cooler than last week
wind’s picked up.
The days grow shorter
which means I have to make each moment
last longer.
Mystic and the muppet-boys are here today, partying.
They cozy in right next to the two forest nymphs,
the morning giggle girls
who spin late night stories
on their fiddle,
while River-Dave sings his heart out
and tells me:
Today is more van Gogh than Monet.
Shadow-girl scoops melon balls on the beach
and hands them out like festive firecrackers
each bite with a life of its own.
We suck the juice from their salmon-colored hearts
and cheer the explosion in our mouths.
The dragonflies are either fat or pregnant tonight,
or maybe like me,
they’ve stuffed themselves on every summer sparkle
and now they’re drunken
swaying on iridescent high-wires
above the river’s shining face,
the sun’s blush tucked into her smile lines.
Lady-Bones sat with me on the rock today
and we talked vulvas.
The importance of keeping the pussy
juicy and potent after menopause.
And I thought, it’s time!
It’s been a whole year
since I broke my heart on that damn bird-man.
Highest I ever flew.
Hardest I’ve fallen in years.
At least I wrote one good new song
and he gave me his travel guitar.
We called our folk duo:
The Dirty Love Birds.
I still miss him.
But I’m feeling inspired today!
I’m gonna get me some sex at Burning Man!
And if not for love,
then for the plain fucking health
of my cunt.
Today I found this place
under a big rock
where the shadows live.
I watched for a long time
as dusk settled on my shoulder
and I wondered if any light would sing there,
but it only grew darker
and drank up what was left of the day.
I felt the first pang of summer’s end,
the way the darkness begins
to outshine the light.
The air is cooler now.
Rocks and trees
blur into their nighttime creatures.
I curl up on the big rock
to absorb the last heat
before it all turns cold.
I consider going to town
to hear Cricket play banjo
but the night chorus here at the river
glues me to the ground
and the August full moon
calls my name.
I set up my bed
under the striped canopy
and thank the Universe
for keeping this whole crazy circus spinning.
I’m grateful there are still places like this
where we can get naked
swim in fresh water
drink from a spring
sleep outside
with the whole damn cosmos pulsing.
And I vow in this life
that I will not become jaded.
Sleeping outside still thrills me.
And I don’t know exactly what we are
or why we’re here,
but I do know
I have the courage and the curiosity
to find out.
And living here,
woven into nature,
the water washing my bones clean,
the trees teaching me how to breathe,
is still the best medicine I know.
***
Meredith Heller is an ageless elfin-child with a Celtic heart. A gypsy-poet philosopher with a penchant for humor and a pocketful of wisdom. A melodic priestess who weaves easily between light and dark, major and minor. A woman who thrives in nature, runs with the wolves, and delights in the wild beauty of life. A poet and singer/songwriter who is on the trails every day, teaches poetry writing to teen girls, and is mused by nature, synchronicity, and kindred souls. You could contact Meredith via her blog.
***
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