On a Cool Evening at the End of Summer

On a cool evening at the end of summer,

the sun setting sooner than in June’s lengthening days,

we sit around the camp fire, wrapped

in sweaters and sweatshirts pulled tight around us

to guard against the chill air of the season ending,

the season winding down into autumn, fading even now

into yellows and reds and browns, too soon perhaps,

summer passing quickly and catching us unprepared;

and wrapped as we are against the cold,

we wrap ourselves, too, in our own thoughts,

silent and staring into the blaze, yellow flames

and glowing embers, red and black, snapping,

rising lazily with the heat and smoke

and the acrid scent of seasoned wood burning,

warming us, so, too, our thoughts, each to himself

remembering, a self-reflection on the summers of our lives

and the summer’s end leading into autumn

and the winter ahead, warmed now by the memories of our lives.