The End of Summer

Summer flees on the feathers

Of Geese escaping approaching cold…

Followed closely by campers and boats,

Along with their owners, young and old.

Each year as they are leaving,

I know they’ll miss the annual birth…

As winter frosts and sun create,

The most beautiful isle on earth.

I leave tomorrow on a float plane;

Shorts and wine in my knapsack.

When dawn repaints Mercurochrome skies,

I‘ll be on the first flight back.