-This poem reflects on a July evening as the gentle slowing of a hot summer day into shade, softness, and rest.
The heat lets go a little slow,
though warmth still clings to step and screen,
the yard grows deep with shadowed green,
and light turns softer in the trees.
A porch light waits but is not lit,
the sky still holds a tender blue,
while somewhere past the fence and road,
a mower falls at last to silence.
The day has not quite left the world,
it lingers low on leaf and rail,
as if the hours themselves would stay,
inside this mild and lengthened hush.
This is the grace of summer dusk,
not fullness now, but easing from it,
the bright day folding into peace,
with all its warmth still near at hand.