The Dying Summer

I just watched a bird breathe his last and flutter his wings in hopes of a flight into the heavens…in my garden. I live where animals are welcome in my garden,
and death is viewed fleetingly as part of the garden’s
pulses. This summer is no different, and the sadness I feel for these dying creatures who spread themselves out on the green palm of Time no less. I hope they find some peace beyond this Life which is at best problematic. I weep for them all. In hopes that someone will weep for me when I reach my last time to the heavens which will not pull me up from the earth. My dog can smell the exact spot even though I removed the bird’s corpse. Death has a smell and also a dirge that plays out the day it happens. We are all visitors here, and the summer itself is dying even as the tomatos
grow red on the vines.


About christineemmert

Words have been part of my life. First the spoken word in my time as an actress and increasingly the written word in my shift to writer. I write across the genres, but mostly as a playwright and poet. My interest as my life extends is in the realm of tethering myth to the mundane reality where I live. In this vein I have expanded into stories and novels. Presently I look at how myths taken from past cultures can affect us today. Hence my novella of Lilith which is out on Kindle . I live in the Eastern Woodlands where I try to incorporate nature into my many writing projects. We are so in danger of losing that link to our very planet!
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