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Rusty Van Reeves

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Member Since: Before 2003

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Self Edit the Seasons
by Rusty Van Reeves

Thursday, September 25, 2003

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Self Edit the Seasons

Long lazy days of summer die a slow poke death
Amid humid breath of moon gas and star light, a blue lunar haze
The fading fireflies, we chase in the back yard
Their light diminishing in our mind’s eye, its so hard to resist
Following them into Murphy’s trees near Wilson Pond.

Color fading from the lush green of summer
Leaves evolve into rustic hues then crisp dry skins
Before they curl and plummet on the eastern breeze
They fall with ease, floating on to the brown carpet
Or into the tepid lake, they roll from yard to street their life complete

Trash can fires will burn them by the millions, billions even
Bellowing smoke on brisk fall evenings, the first frost done
The fading sun, the time of Harvest and Jack ‘O lanterns
That familiar smell of yesterday hanging in our senses
Goblins on the fences, shadows on our walls

Summer passing to autumn in the neighborhood
In our soul we remember hearing our name called
Screamed first and last name, we linger then bolt
As the screen door slaps the door jam, yes ma’am my hands are clean
There is one more thing, head’s bowed grace said, heart’s fed

Twilight filters in above the sink, a golden yellow cast
We place our mayonnaise jar beside us,
Inside a flickering memory that ignites our imagination
Fireflies dancing near the sweet tea glass
They die so fast, with no holes in the lid, careless kid
I will remember next year to poke the holes

Summer disappearing over the western horizon, purple, pink, gray
Make it stay, make it stop, go back again with every clock
Our lives ticking to the sounds of youthful indignation
Forty something minds set on record, fast forward, rewind, record
Editing this until our final winter, this eternal summer

These little things are in our minds and souls
Carved forever, packed away like a good suit or a wedding dress
As fragile as dried flowers and as valuable as our dearest friend.
Mementos of then… In the attic of our being, we self edit every season.

Rusty Van Reeves
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