Hot

I haven't looked up the birth date of today's poem, but I'm sure it was written back in the days when my writing was done in an attic space ... a great portion of the house where there was always a feeling of quiet ... away from the phones and other distractions.

It was a beautiful nook ... even had a view of the city ... but it was subject to temperature extremes ... HOT in the summer ... and finger-numbing COLD in the winter.

Got the scene?

I may have forgotten the date on which today's poem was written ... but I do recall sitting there barefoot at the keyboard as I wrote.

The poem:

THIS SUMMER DAY

It's five-thirty in the morning,
and in a nearby yard a dog
is barking for his breakfast.

A cardinal serenades
the dew-draped maple,
an unidentified singer
in a neighboring tree
provides counterpoint,
and I'm sitting barefoot,
ready for the steam.

A captive fan bestows
an artificial breeze,
one for me to remember
as the temperatures
and humidity blast off.

I may have to dig up
memories of last winter,
stored in the root cellar
of my mind for such a day.

Even the crows are out,
cawing: "Hot, hot, HOT!"

© 1995

(originally published in The Christian Science Monitor)

Today's word: hot