Sonnet for the August Kalends

Dropping temperature brings subtle, swift shift:
flame scribbles red on maple leaf edges.
Sun demonstrates a southerly drift;
snakes slither slower on bare rock ledges.
Finches explode from oak and spread to sky;
turkeys mine on their twilight promenade,
and crickets play lento before they die.
Moth loses struggle with nets spider made.
And here, too, is morning, wrapped in cool fog,
and noonday covered in high overcast.
Yet termites still drill mine in rotten log.
Wrens inquire how long summer might last,
and when they should go? A crispness in breeze
prepares them for endings of summer’s ease.

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