The tendril shriveled
as it left the stalk behind;
and the fruit and the bark
as they sloughed off the last
of the heated days. The deck
chairs tilted to the left
as if tipsy. The lawn
lay clipped in a haze
of medium green.
When the sun went down,
it did so darkly.
You couldn’t see the flash
of synchronized wings,
but you heard the sound
they made, departing.
In response to Via Negativa: Armchair traveler.