Provision

... I was rich, if not in money, in sunny hours and summer days ... - Thoreau

another summer struts in with ripe, due arrogance

carried atop angels shoulders

like spun silk

warm, chromatic breath from god's very nostrils

hear the music

live the glory

the season of dismay is over

time for tears to dry

the blanket of malaise is tucked away in mothballs

everything will be okay

it has to be

Author's Note

"Live in each season as it passes: breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit." - Thoreau