Offstage.
August;
summer should be centre stage yet
blustery winds bow flowers down
and dark clouds mask the sun.
Rain;
enough to chill the bones of those
who dare to make appearance in
their fine, fair-weather garb.
Trees
perform their dance, their dalliance,
with veils of varied hues of green
bewitching those who watch.
Birds,
bedraggled on their perches, seem
disheartened and disconsolate,
their songs unsung for now.
Sol
from time to time looks out from
where he waits impassively until
it's time for him to shine.