Summer Heat

By Mary G. Wakeman

Songs of the early rising wood thrush, chipping sparrows and robins mark the first day of summer. Their vibrant melody wakes the dogs with a start and they in turn prod me. Morning air is heavy with a tinge of coolness, which makes for a bearable morning walk; it is going to be a hot one today. Pungent dawn air is alive with summer’s aromatic twinge of fresh mowed grass, pollen and earth; this stirs my spirit and awakens memories. The stillness and sweetness is pleasing to the lazy senses.

Afternoon heat chased away the songs birds; to where have they disappeared? . Bird feeders are void of all aviary specialists, but well visited by squirrels and chipmunks. A pair of humming birds clearly appreciates their succulent sugar water. They perch on a branch and observe the world intensely

Willow, my older Labrador retriever, does not hesitate to show her approval of the heat by fulfilling her duty as sun goddess. She saunters out to lie on heat soaked boards of the porch. It is too hot to even move. I sweat just sitting still and the dogs pant in desperations to cool down. We seek any body of water to escape the weather or huddle around a tabletop fan.

Evening, the trill of tree frogs echoes in the dusk, fireflies blink and send coded messages. The occasional one enters the house and acts as a glow bug and lights the dark room as we try to sleep. We go to bed with methodical whir of the fan. My sweaty sticky skin slowly dries and the dog’s sweaty feet eventually cool as we the night progresses and we fall asleep to rise the next day to the heat and humidly. Let’s go for a swim today in the crystal clear lake.

(Mary Wakeman is a Troubadour reader from Hancock, NH)

Truck Talks (A tribute to Dad)

by Melissa Overmyer

Back seat of the truck
Do you remember when I was little?
Chattering so much, mom couldn’t get ready,
So I went in the truck to church with you,
Only to chatter your ear off too!

I have fond memories of that little bucket seat,
In fact I think that’s when I can safely say our talks began,
They might have been silly at first—“there’s a hole in the bottom of the sea”
But as the years passed they were formative of who I would come to be.

Looking back I remember your varying expertise,
On economics: law of supply and demand,
Relationships: the friendship clubs with matching labels,
Sometimes our time was just a chance to show off our whistles!

But most of all you listened,
Which is how I know you cared,
Even when I was a chatty, whiny child,
You managed to find a lesson and just smiled.

I still cherish these truck talks,
Even though they have changed from suburban to accord,
And the content quickly deepened as I matured,
I tell you this and be completely assured:
Our truck talks better not stop,
Even though I’m “grown up”
I have learned more than you know,
And still have much more room to grow.

(Melissa Overmyer is a Troubadour reader from Northwood, NH)