LATE JULY EVENING

LATE JULY EVENING

 

A late July evening, I go outside to walk,

Find little creatures all over the drive…

The older ones know to scamper away

While the younger somehow manage to stay alive.

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Toads in miniature sit immobile on concrete

As their elders treat me as a giant foul…

Green katydids at odd angles stay reposed

As cicada of this cycle start to howl.

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My mother never did like cicada inside,

Or katydids—my wife is the same way—

About some distant myth that the beasties bit,

But you’d not like it either being put away.

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Late July evenings, like August out here,

Once would lead to visits two-weeks-straight…

Those times are over but this time of year

Reminds me of family times great.

 

—Jonathan Caswell

 

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