Dog Day Cicadas

The Dog Day Cicadas
usher in the reign of Ms. Autumn
who doesn’t care that you like it warmer,
or that you want to have berries bloom
again and again to squish into your
lovely mouth and bake into pies.

Who doesn’t care that the days grow shorter
and colder. She heralds in pumpkins and squashes and
apples and cool breezes. She reminds you of school days
and books and new shoes and the smell of classrooms
and that love of your youth, whom you walked around the lakes with
while the water formed waves and the willow branches swung lightly, and you held hands tightly. Thinking this must be love.

Its her turn, its her time, and she’ll make the leaves fall, eventually.
After she turns them one by one from green to yellow, to orange, and golden
and they will all drift slowly from the trees to the ground to form a soft rug under
your feet, or to make a lovely sound as they tumble, dried and crispy, down the street.

Sure as we know, the Cicadas are singing, bringing the return of Autumn, her breath fresh and sure, her touch cool and calm, she says, “Time to get your warm blankets out."