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.

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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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