before the harvest, we were free

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“ it  was a riverside meadow, lush from before the harvest.”  milosz

 before the harvest, we were free

 before the harvest we were free to watch the corn shoot clearly through the low
 hanging clouds, neither proud nor meek, we heard the dying grasses speak a summer tongue--
translating a still hot summer into a more bearable, fragrant fall

 a  call to drop arms, guns, knives at the source of a drum drumming in the deep
 green of a late summer wood
 the middle of the harbor heaving its blue green,
 glistening in a tired summer sun

ushering all of us in for a swim-
 how late august brings us to our knees, in gentle pleas
 to get on with the cooler, more easily breathable season we call autumn
 words/photo~kate lamberg (c) '18

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