Vacillations
by Elizabeth Barrette

In solemn fields as summer fades
The south wind sighs through grassy blades
Lamenting for the season’s close …
The north wind comes, and cackles, Snows!

In frail agreement, foxtails nod,
And sink their toes into the sod.
The goldenrod gives up the ghost
While wild wheat turns tan as toast.

The clover’s turned to honey now –
Go ask the dancing bees just how –
The blooms are done, the seeds are set
But summer isn’t over yet.

At noon the sun shines warm and near,
Nor has the silver frost come here.
The leaves have not yet changed their coats;
No ice upon the river floats.

The Perseids have just passed by,
A rain of fire in the sky.
Orion hasn’t broached the night
So summer isn’t through … not quite.

Yet stags in velvet venture forth
As thunder rumbles in the north.
The young geese test their wide, strong wings.
A cocklebur to cat fur clings.

The mouse has gathered up her hoard,
Secured her winter’s room and board;
The fox is hunting in the field,
His ivory kiss of peace concealed.

Sweet Summer turns to wave goodbye,
A spark of sunlight in her eye;
Fair Autumn on the threshold stands,
A horn of plenty in her hands.

Today they dance, as sisters will,
Their laughter mingling on the hill –
Yet soon they part, tonight, the next,
By vacillations no more vexed.


This poem was originally published in Out of the Mists Vol. 5, No. 4, Midsummer/Lammas 2002.

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