Summer's End

The birds know the wind, They've been here before
Rooftop preparations for a deliverance into Mexico
The beach is quiet now, If waves turn, it is not written
Lounge chairs have receded to their wooden homes
Planks upon barefoot, A reminder of that which comes
Long ago maybe scribed, Wind bends the pages to and fro
A sanctuary from sweat, Though I muse it temporal bliss
Summer Sun sets, bearing down on the empty beach
The last of its might a brilliant orange, it captivates
Panoramic horizon, no blank page is left upon clear sky
The end ebbs and nears, though not today, not this place
On the morrow, its version will reach the heavens again
And the ice cream truck will stroll sandy shore lines late
Children, building empires, They listen for its jingle
Sunbathers, unaware of the change state, lay out once more
The aging fisherman even, from pier 22 or perhaps 23
His long white beard waving in the wind as goes his line
The tide, it bends his fate, a reminder of dawning change
Some lost little pup, sniffing and yipping at everything
Forgotten temporarily, but never too far out from home
All of this comes into view from the corner lot of time
I was here last year, perhaps a little younger, no wiser
Faces will change, as do names, but never the premise
Mayhap a Yorkie and not a Chihuahua,  my eye stirs
Its the mixture of warmth and wind, eternity and temporal
A blend at the changing of the guard, a magic place indeed
There you will always find me, yet untouched by time
Where the wind blows, and the roads, oh how they bend
There you will find me, in the grasp of Summer's End