Camaraderie

"Drunk with gold they bumped their heads . . ."






" They pledged a bond of summer friendship . . . "


Wandering through the late summer vegetation one witnesses much bonhomie. Perhaps as the days grow shorter and the crickets begin to talk about the cold and stillness ahead, nature's denizens feel the need to sing a few rounds of Auld Lang Syne with their summer neighbors.

I wrote a little ditty about these observations.


The Globe Thistle Bar


It must have been an ear-eluding whistle
that drew the critters to the blue globe thistle.
They nuzzled ‘round the spiky little taps
and guzzled either nectar or some saps
brought in on summer’s late-season run -
compliments of a sated July sun.

So, drunk with gold they bumped their heads
to fill their bellies before the dregs
of fall rose up.

They drained their cups.

And called to fellow passersbys
with beady, buzzing little cries:
“Beer! Over here!”

As only spirits can provide,
at bars with strangers side by side,
the air was sweet with the bonhomie
of the monarch as he stroked the bee
with dizzy, sotted antennae,

and pledged a bond of summer friendship –
until October’s frost should end it.


Catherine Wilson


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