Night heat

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Fireflies waltzing all aglow from the lawn

crickets clicking top ten lover’s songs

Bullfrogs singing what a fine night

leaping splashing in the moonlight

just a croaking on their sweetie’s lily pad

j.

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About jingeorgia

Searching high and low no matter where i go it always seems the same: shades of grey. Or, was that gray?
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4 Responses to Night heat

  1. Beth says:

    A cute poem and a cute pic.  You have talent.

  2. the says:

    So, so cool.  Peace.

  3. Vaughn says:

    J,
     
    Nice words. Our thoughts on summer sounds and sights must be in accord. A cricket churps outside my bedroom window every night, drawing me in half-sleep to fields of green and gold — ripening corn and sprouting wheat, remembered in a Mid-Atlantic piedmont held close to my heart.  No sound of frogs here on the dry, high desert, but my sense memory can fill in the gap. Last summer — for the first time in decades — I saw fireflies (lightning bugs, as we called them in my childhood). Where did I see them? Why, in Central Park, of course (irony). Imagine that. My wife, who is a native of Nevada, had never seen them and was justifiably moved by their glowing show. No Las Vegas neon can compare. Thanks for the words and the imagery.
     
    Vaughn

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