Before darkness

in summer

there is a hush

that settles like dust motes.

In the distance

cars hum quietly,

their cones of light leading the way.

A lone lawnmower buzzes,

as if to cut the light short.

Children’s voices are muffled

as they emerge from a pool.

A sprinkler cuts an arc

across the lawn, relieving its thirst.

 

Before darkness

in summer

there is a sense of privilege

of unending days.

Lines form for ice cream,

moths darting at the neon sign.

Couples walk along the beach,

their feet in the lapping waves.

People sit on dimly-lit porches,

sharing stories of summers long past.

Beach towels are hung on railings and lines,

haphazardly telling the day’s adventures.

 

Before darkness

in summer

There is a mystery

that only the stars can see

as the world slowly exposes itself

just before sleep.

 

Eve T. Remillard