The First Day
By Susan Mardele
There is that first day
at the weary end of summer
When the Texas summer air,
fuggy, heavy and breathless,
Shifts subtly. It has the crisp feel
of a freshly starched shirt,
Or new waxed paper
rolled out for the first time.
Blue, oh so blue sky,
sun smaller, hot and sharp,
Cool in the shade,
foretelling morning goosebumps and dew.
The leaves on the trees,
so proud and new in spring and early summer,
Now drift lazily down the light air,
lacy and brown.
Landing softly,
they crunch cheerily underfoot
like great piles of potato chips,
Becoming sustenance
for the next generation of leaves to come.
Winter will come,
and its end in tentative spring,
But for now, it is fall.
These few glorious days,
All crystal air, relief and hope.