Almost September
by Scott Wiggerman

It’s August. Texas. Noon. Yet autos pass
with open windows—unbelievable!
A brief reprieve, this taste of fall, this kiss
upon our arid lips. Our lungs are full
of cooler air that lingers after last
night’s rain, another rarity. And see
the drivers smile? Fresh air is what they’ve missed
these months of heat. They even stop for me
at lights—not crowding crosswalks with the bulk
of steaming engines, nor enjoying games
of inching forward, daring me to walk.
No. Weather’s changed our attitudes and seems
to make us hopeful. Let cool air, like peace,
descend upon our days. Let August cease.

Illya's Honey Literary Journal

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