Last days of summer

I can tell the summer is over because my eyes start to droop by 7 pm.

Nesting season. Resting season.

Eepy sleepy season.

Petals and leaves fall, the soil subsumes.

Ready to dissolve.

I, too, am in my blanket, hitting the snooze.

Gusts of wind with a hint of chill,

summon forth hibernation habits

that wrestle with my will,

to grasp the last light of a summer spent with gusto.