The rivers dried in that August Haze
My body groans and creaks
Slow to move like molasses glaze
The zenith of the year it rises
Crescendoing in the heat of an afternoon daze
Lingering
Like a roller coaster at its highest drop
Or a hiker on a mountaintop
Who just doesn’t want to leave…
It is the final call to summer
To get it in while you can
Rain, fire, smoke, cold, dark
it’ll all come soon
and the August Haze will fade
melting into a puddle
inside your mind