Summer Solstice

It is a new season,
a time when the newness of spring morphs
into something richer, something greener,
when the longest days begin again
to grow shorter, and there is less light,
more night. The air is heavy
with the promise of storms.

On a good day, they arrive slowly,
creeping towards you, dark and foreboding,
a presence more than a thing,
with bass thunder echoing in them,
angry light cracking just out of sight
as you stand on the grey slate summit
pondering how long you can wait
before fleeing to the safety of your home
down, down, down below the quarry.

For that is the problem,
as you have aged, you have become less afraid
of storms, less afraid of the angry weather
of God and men, more aware that though you are tender,
you are not, and likely never were
fragile. .