When the time comes to leave, I will miss the cranes. They seem so unselfconscious and satisfied, a combination that sounds like jubilance.

I will not miss the wood ticks, the way they crawl and cling. The tick that annoys most is the one that isn’t there, because you feel her on you everywhere at once.


Published by

Ray Sharp

Father, poet, triathlete, local public health planner

2 thoughts on “Summer”

  1. I struck through a remark about being ticked off. A small but vital thing I have forgotten always strikes me as a tick. When I’m older, maybe I’ll be in the blissful state of not remembering I forgot something. Meanwhile, this is a wonderful little poem about the passing of a season – bravo.

    Liked by 1 person

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