An August Thing To Do

This could be the last life I'll ever live. I'll pick the strawberries for breakfast, While the day wraps me In its fold, like a blanket. Then I'll dig the potatoes - An August thing to do. All about me hover the moments Like late hatchlings of June bugs. The strawberries ripen in the sun. The potatoes sprout And beg for soil. I plod on through the day Until the sun sinks in the sky.