Linda Pastan: "September"

"John the Baptist in the Wilderness," by Geertgen tot Sint-Jans

(click to see the really wonderful detail of his sad and lonely feet)

"September"
by Linda Pastan

it rained in my sleep
and in the morning the fields were wet

I dreamed of artillery
of the thunder of horses

in the morning the fields were strewn
with twigs and leaves

as if after a battle
or a sudden journey

I went to sleep in summer
I dreamed of rain

in the morning the fields were wet
and it was autumn

. . . and here is the power of poetry.




Last night I set this poem to post this morning - a warm night in late summer. And in the morning awoke to the sound of rain and a cold bedroom. The poem had come true.


I put on, for the first time this morning, a jacket and flannel-lined jeans to walk the hills.


Summer is over.

Yes, she may come back, all golden and blowsy-petaled like an opera star for a final farewell performance - and then again, perhaps, for a really, truly final farewell performance. But we all know. 

Summer is over.