Looking Back


Floyd Skloot


That morning my wife and I felt
summer lose its grip. Nothing more
than a waning of the scents that dwelt
all season near the hilltop, or
softer light, an edge to the breeze
we were not even sure was there.
It was still too early for leaves
to change color, though we saw where
that would begin as we looked back
into the sunlit grove of oak.
When we continued our slow walk
to the crest, neither of us spoke.