The mornings are cooler now,
the coyote’s returned
or probably a new one,
it seemed a little smaller.
And that wraps up summer–
a boat has cut its engine
and sits on the still lake.
Knowing the ending,
now we wait.
The finches rehearse
their southern migration,
chatter excitedly
about their upcoming trip.
We who are staying
start to grow a thicker coat,
to keep us warm,
hide our leanness
in the coming gaunt months.
The morning tries to burn off
these sorts of thoughts,
the boat moves on,
sun-stupid quails bleat
in the yellow hills.
But in any sink or shadow
or hollow a chill remains,
and this isn’t the first time
we’ve been left behind.
OPTIONAL POETRY 
I felt a little “bleak” after the first reading, but after the second and third, I found a borderline optimism in the tone, despite those great lines “knowing the ending, now we wait,” and “this isn’t the first time we’ve been left behind.” Interesting how you managed that. Nicely done.
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Thank you! Although I’m sad to see the summer go it was good to see the coyote again; it seems to herald the start of a more wild season here. Will have to keep a closer eye on the dogs, tho
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