Ripen

I instruct myself to wait,

and in the space, a feeling ripens

that the days have an Autumnal hue,

and Summer is relaxing away.  

The water glimmers.

The sky is a cloudy blue crumble,

unconcerned with motion.

The slightest breeze rests on the hairs of my arms.

A man on the bench behind me speaks into his phone,

his voice level, warm, fatherly.

Geese and ducks honk and holler,

that sound especially nostalgic to me at this time of year.

Everything is more gentle, perhaps.  

I let it all adjust me, redistribute how I feel,

slow my heart-rate, ease my spirit.