firestorm

slight smoke hangs in the air

the sky swallows

its blue, spits out grey

i water the pots of zinnias -

scorched leaves,

delicate buds - pinks, reds, oranges -

their thirst no different

from my own

my back strains with the effort

soon I can move only

gingerly

so this is what it means

to grow old:

the body keeping time

in careful steps,

while the heart

still leans toward summer

my spine pulls taut,

an osteoporosis warning

still, I lift my chest

summer has returned - 

heat, humidity, fires in the sky

i stand 

a maple tree

filled with orange-lit fog,

Toss in the wind—rack up the muttering sky.*

i root myself   

i hold my body high

grateful

for another season

of long, hot days—

for sunlight still warming

my shoulders,

for flowers

that insist on blooming

for whatever time remains -

to stand 

to weather 

to live

*A Thunderstorm by Archibald Lampman

Posted for dVerse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight #411- Hosted by Mish.  Thanks for your visits and comments.  Happy 15h year anniversary dVerse!!!!