Summer in the north

the cotton rope hangs straight down
what could have been tied to a wharf
moving on an outgoing tide
suspended from the thick pine branch
no swinging today
this day when the humidity soars
and the air turns to droplets
dripping from my brow

looking up the rope
the needles fall like arrows
from the canopy where the birds
are not
their songs missing
at seven
in the morning

this day of heat
i wait
like waiting for water to boil
i wait
for frost filled mornings
and the tourists to leave
with their gas guzzled motors
and attitudes that will choke you up as
all that
when the roads will
once again be for quiet drives
and the rope will swing
in a cool
morning breeze

bring it on i say
and i don't want to rush time
as it moves too quickly these days
but bring it on
the northern air
that cleanses
the spirit
clears the eyes
of summer's
two week holiday a year
vacationers
of special salmon dinners
and eggs over easy
with whole wheat toast
for twenty-three

bring it on i say
just one more time
so that i may breathe in
all this summer
and exhale
into
a grand fall.