After the Boys of Summer have gone.

The thought of summer waning, elicits melancholy. The proof of those lost days: melons that never had a chance to mature -- the raccoons night time scavenges, skulking in the yard under moonlit shadows. Gnawing at the flesh. Leaving the seeds and pulp strewn through the garden.














The sunflowers, heads bent with the weight of summer. Birds and chipmunks peck at the faces, grabbing for every seed that is loose or ready to succumb to winter.