Things float into place. End of summer,
what feels like a pause in effort needed
(though it isn’t, though we have still failed
to run our full race)

Hint of sea breeze mitigates
what was predicted as a scorching day,
all the trees still green,
but fall leaves on the ground

Children on the swings
pump high, swing back …
Folks ride by on bicycles
and behind them I see trailing
a wisp of longing
for the imagined freedom
of being in their place.

©Wendy Mulhern
September 4, 2020