-This poem reflects on a summer field at noon, where heat, stillness, and brightness reveal the full weight and grace of the season.
The field lies open to the sun,
its grasses bright with heat and light,
no cloud to break the steady blue,
no wind to trouble what is still.
The air itself seems full and slow,
a shimmer held above the ground,
while insects move in hidden rows,
through stem and seed and summer dust.
No softness cools the middle hour,
the shadows gather close and thin,
and every living thing appears,
to bear the day with quiet force.
Yet even here, in weight and blaze,
the season keeps its deeper grace,
a fullness neither loud nor rushed,
but wholly given to the light.