Indian Summer

 

Indian Summer

 

A Poem by James Rodney Moorer

 

I see an old propeller plane flying overhead and I wonder

what it must have been like back in the day.

 

I imagine that I am the first to get there as I swat back mosquitoes in a tropical rainforest searching for that lost Mayan headstone or fabled tribe of Amazons.

 

It is sad that the world is so small and can be traveled in an Internet minute, knowing everything there is to know, they would have you believe, and finding out

nothing can be yours for a computer and a subscription.

 

Perhaps imagination hasn’t really gone away – just temporarily out of style.

The wild geese fly southward on their way to only they know where, leaving only the memory of their honking, which quickly fades.

 

Indian summer is nearly over.

 

Winter comes.

Perhaps they, as well as I, know it will never be the same.

 

Off in the distance I see the red exit signs beckoning me onward, and yet I am leery for I’m in no hurry to go. Still they shine like beacons in a foggy night, and I’m never lost, but still in no hurry to go.

Reviews

[Cherrie]

Indian Summer great title and my favorite time of year. I enjoyed the tempo of this piece
and this line ...Perhaps they, as well as I, know it will never be the same....

[Alex Caine]

I really enjoyed this. Very thought-inducing. Good job :)

[Silent Kim aka mizmetap..]

Very interesting write. It flows carefully down the page in a soft dream like state. nice write.