Late Summer

I sit outside in the evening

watching the sun slide down the

side of the sky like melting butter.

Overhead the leaves of the towering ash

are stenciled against the pale blue sky,

as unmoving as daubs of green paint.

A cluster of small clouds spreads out

like small children playing a last game

before dark. They gather together as

they float toward the horizon,

knitting themselves into a soft white blanket,

tucking themselves in for the night.

Two tired robins, their hatchlings gone,

wing across the open sky and bats

swoop like acrobats between trees.

A plane, so high it is silent,

shimmers pink in the sunset glow

blinking its lights like a beacon

showing the birds, the winging bats,

the cloud children, and me

how to navigate the dark.