August Isn't So Bad When It's Over

It's almost the end of summer, which is about when I emerge from the angry, sleepy stupor hot days put me in. Cold fronts finally broke the back of the Pacific Northwest's August. I think less about moving someplace cooler like, say, one of the smaller moons of Neptune.


And in celebration, I'll grudgingly give summer its due. Here's a poem from a collection of Imagist work - I love the specificity and conciseness that avoids being ordinary. (Amalfi is a seaside Italian town.)

Amalfi

Richard Aldington

We will come down to you,
O very deep sea,
And drift upon your pale green waves
Like scattered petals.


We will come down to you from the hills,
From the scented lemon groves,
From the hot sun.
We will come down,
O Thalassa,
And drift upon
Your pale green waves
Like petals.