When summer officially ended
I sensed as an old friend come to visit
Again was leaving me alone..
Landlocked I didn't get my dose of ocean mist
Not my lungs fill of the sea air this year.
The late September rains came;
Then after the droplets left,
Suddenly I remembered,
Indian Summer is coming!
With its lime green, rust and orange leaves;
Flurrying down from unyielding,
Strong after-the-first-frost trees.
My nose also tells me it is here;
With its silent, pollen-induced runnings.
Teased by warmer temperatures,
Gladly indulging the last chance madness;
Another outdoor tennis or two,
making hay as much as we want to!
For all too soon we will out the coats and jackets.
Indian Summer is a time that is most special to me.
It shows, however, symptoms typical of life;
Renewed yet teasing falseness of hope,
Yet we will accept this harvest of warmth,
Milking it for as long as nature provides.