Return me to the choking heat of seeming lifeless air
where bees and butterflies compete for heady panicled buddleia.
Elderflower has peaked and gone, strawberry now reserved,
blackcurrant steeped and stacked upon gooseberry too preserved.
Snare my singing soul at its sweetest sound.
Pluck the ringing carpel while it does abound.
Reversion is the death knell, not yet told,
conserved in right this moment, not yet old.
Trap me too in glass or freeze me in my prime.
Keep me sealed, set fast until next summertime.
(This Summer is just lovely, with the past few days being particularly balmy. At roughly this time every year I think of the winter ahead and how I'd like to hibernate through it. I also think of getting older and convince myself every year that I am now in my prime! We still have a lot of summer 2014 ahead but the majority our fruit-picking and jam-making here is done for this year.)
