The Stone of Summer

There were no trees when
the hole was dug and filled and
covered, when the stone of
summer was put in place,
granite remembrance of
what had been a summer
love.

There were no intertwinings of
leaves and branches to filter
summer light, no canopy to
shield the letters and numbers
from sun and wind and rain
and snow, no birds to screech and
caw.

There was no closeness of a
summer place to protect a
mourning heart, to wrap its
arms of forest mist around heaving
shoulders, to mute and hide the
pain of a summer
loss.

There was only a rise upon a
field and grass and light and
darkness to sit with a
young farmer whose heart was
rendered dull with the
absence of a summer
smile.

He sits with her still, singing a
song of lilacs and daisies and
roses, whispering a love,
uttering a silence, as
the roots of the trees
summon the stone of
summer.


Over at The High Calling Blogs, L.L. Barkat has issued a call for a Random Act of Poetry on “a tablespoonful of summer.” This particular poem was inspired by a photograph posted this past weekend by Nancy Rosback at Poems and Prayers.