The lazy sun sleeps in,
sinks sooner, but brings color
on a breeze to these hills
growing golden until it rains—
even the turquoise turkey mullein
fades to brittle bronze. No place to hide
for hungry ground squirrels, assorted
hawks and Golden Eagles glide
above their tailing piles
or tease and test one another
with aerodynamic acrobatics
as summer heat relinquishes
its hold on the air we breathe.
We become young once more,
stepping lightly with aging feet.
drycrikjournal 