Here in Phoenix, it is raining–a lot. In some parts of the city, more than 3 inches overnight–an all-time record. An hour ago, I ran barefoot through puddles to my car, planning to dry my feet with a towel at the gym, and then put on my socks and shoes. I enjoyed the big splashes as my car plowed through deep water on the street. In the parking lot of the lights-out gym, still barefoot, I received an email. “CLASS CANCELLED.” I checked the weather on my iPhone. Rain all day and a high temperature of 90 degrees. This is the Phoenix version of a Snow Day. And, for me, the official start of Fall.
Every morning, I read a poem. I’ve taken a picture of the anthology, and placed the picture at the end of this post. Here’s the poem from yesterday:
So it’s today, and in the chokecherry this year:
the first leaves turn ochre, there, by the open gate.
I grab the sweater you left on a chair, wrap it
around my shoulders and–as I did for days last year
until I couldn’t keep up with the season–I pick
every single rusting leaf, each fading flower
and hide them in my apron pocket: their crush
for you–for us–such an easy thing to do
for a few more days of summer.
Laure-Anne Bosselaar (1943- )