-This poem reflects on the fullness of high summer, where light, labor, growth, and abundance have reached their richest expression before the season begins its slow turning.
The fields stand full beneath the sun,
their grasses deep, their harvest near,
the gardens hold their richest green,
the orchards bend with patient weight.
The days have gathered all they could,
light, rain, blossom, fruit, and seed,
each hour carrying its own abundance,
each evening slow to close its hands.
The storms have come, the heat has stayed,
the body bears the season well,
its work, its rest, its thirst, its joy,
all written into flesh and field.
Nothing asks to bloom again,
it has become what it could be,
and in that quiet, ripened grace,
the whole world seems enough.