by Judy Botts
A wilting, withering, hot summer day
so oppressive even the new puppy didn’t want to play.
A mid-afternoon nap is a must!
I’m wishing the fan had a frostier thrust!
The hummingbird stops whirring its fluorescent blue wings,
The distant neighbor’s antique dinner bell rings.
Waves at the lake cease to pound the beach,
Leaving a swath of fishbones, driftwood and dunegrass within easy reach.
Dusk brushes the earth in soft, pink strokes.
Pleasing the beachcombers, cottage owners and all the folks
who hear the red- hot sun sizzle into night
as it licks the horizon with its blinding light.