It’s spider season
which may not help against aphids.
It’s a time when beauty pushes
against the back side of my eyes,
suggesting tears —
Beauty of guitar sound through the open window,
cloaked enough by outside noise
to only come in snatches
that remind me of the boy inside,
bittersweetly soon to leave for college;
Beauty of slightly drought-stressed flowers
heading towards seed.
It all looks rather wild,
and the yield is less than perfect
but the bees don’t care.
Lazy beauty of summer
leaves me with some scarcely defined longing —
Maybe the plants can understand it more than I,
Maybe the crows know.
©Wendy Mulhern
August 3, 2013
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