I note with some sadness
how early the darkness
comes already in the evening
and how late it lingers in the morning.
It seems that only a few weeks ago
we could sit in the slow dusk,
sipping iced tea and talking in low voices,
watching the husks of trees
grow dark against the deepening colors of the western sky.
The changing tilt of the earth,
three months now past the summer solstice,
sifts more quickly through the shifting shades,
accelerates the moods of night and day
and day and night.
It is with little regret
that we have passed from the hungering sun
of July and August:
withering drought, splintering earth.
And I crave the crisp air
and moderate days of autumn,
but I wish that I had accomplished more
in the long light of summer.