August sun has baked the summer soil:
moss and lichens, clover and moonscape
stare entranced underfoot.
Hoppers patrol the slope down to the river
watching for monsters or other vacationers
gone with the latter boats across the water
and up the long road away.
We bear boxes of bedding, tools, extra memories
down to the boat to stow with the cool knowledge
of coming storms, snow and thaws and cobwebs,
as inevitable as snoring under the slumbering moon.
