Wedges

Wedges He looked at me huge chestnut wedged in happy teeth, bushy tail, fully fluffed, soft warning of a hard winter approaching. He did not have time to talk no chatter today, only business, no time to dance with the Robins, confer with the Cardinals, hang around the water cooler. The Vee’s of summer honking as they battle the gridlock of migration, a strange mimicking of the farewell to Cape Cod - back-ups at the Bourne and Sagamore bridges. The warmth of summer would recede, as a late tide on sunset’s emptying beach, the cool ocean breeze erase the evidence from the sand. Seagulls would bemoan the shortage of French fries, return to the fishing boats and a sushi diet. Dogs will sit and whine as they watch the children disappear into the big yellow boxes. The brushstrokes of Fall will color the horizon, groups of crispy, crayola colored leaves dance around the trunks of trees, crocheting a quilt to tuck under the chin of old shade. The songs the tones and tenor, the daily demeanor will take on an urgency, a purpose. The squirrel stops, perhaps a rodent coffee break, sits on the fence, in the sun as if reflecting, and is off again to the base of the old Chestnut tree to fill his mouth with wedges of the future. For Kelly Deschler Summer’s End contest 8/28/2014