A Sunday in August

We’re not in a hurry—

a radiant flurry

of photons is pelting

our retinas, melting

the ice in our glasses.

The afternoon passes

with nothing but resting.

The sunlight’s suggesting

a nap—as we’re dozing,

the heat is proposing

a dip. We go swimming—

our bodies are brimming

with goodness. But after

an hour of laughter

we hear a deep rumble—

we hop out and stumble

to dry off and load up.

A sudden storm showed up.

It’s kind of a bummer—

it happens each summer.

Reference: https://ift.tt/DLyNhZF