When the dust billows and lingers above the gravel road,
when the lawn goes brown and the pond goes green,
when the heavy apples fall and the combines slowly chew through the fields,
it’s the dog days of summer.
Days of thick wet heat
waiting for the cool that doesn’t come
even when the still darkness creeps over the corn tassels.
The moon is big and blurry eyed
and sleep comes slowly in damp sheets.
It’s the days of rocking in a shady spot on the porch
telling childhood stories
and drinking lemonade from a sweating glass.
There a different kind of tired in the deep of August,
a swooning fog of heavy lungs and slow breath,
a tired to the bone
that even a long nap won’t cure.
The dogs days call for a slowdown,
a sit back, eat ice cream, and be together.
Be together and appreciate the richness of go nowhere
and the simple wealth of home and family.