-This poem reflects on the subtle change of light at summer’s edge, where the season begins its quiet transition from fullness and intensity toward tenderness and reflection.
The light arrives at a lower angle,
soft gold laid across the field,
touching fence and orchard row,
with less of fire, and more of grace.
The leaves still hold their summer green,
the garden bears its final weight,
yet every shadow reaches farther,
than it did a week ago.
Nothing announces what has changed,
no bell is rung, no line is crossed,
the day simply wears a gentler face,
and evening comes a little sooner.
So much of late summer leaves this way,
not taken, but slowly translated,
from brightness into tenderness,
from fullness into golden light.