Three Days in August

it is the wrong time of the year

to find these rituals amusing

we start each day early here

with important things to do

no distinction between

workdays and weekends

the fog obscures the dawn

on friday and saturday

only burning off late

into an already hot morning

at night a heavy wind and rain

toss boulders of white quartz

down the gully into the

rushing water of the creek

and after the storm

pink and blue light of morning

fills sunday's eastern horizon

like a new version of an old sermon

announcing the sun's unobstructed rising

but our interest

by then has waned

our important work

mostly done or forgotten