The line fence leered out of an August fog
This morning, and on every stump and log
Gray moisture globules winking wetly, tossed
Reflected light about like early frost.
My neighbor-friend, elbowing through the gray,
Passed me half-way upon our mutual hill
With chores upon his mind. He paused to say,
“You almost need a coat against the chill.”
On such a day as this–who can say when–
Slow chemicals begin reaction then,
And in accordance with some ancient, long-lost charts,
Tired summer yields the reins, and autumn starts.
by Ray Romine Wednesday, March 31, 1954
