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.
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.
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.
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.