The fervor of summer and long heated days,
the drying, warm breezes in afternoon sun,
make grasses turn brown, seeping groundwater scarce,
and signal the shift of the season's begun.
Grapes waiting 'til harvest, with patience, resigned,
the sun is no longer straight overhead, peaked,
just sixty days' biding will bring out the crew,
and crush soon thereafter, the vintage critiqued.
The energy drawn by the vineyard's broad leaves
gives the clusters their health, and their palate repute,
for these are the grapes of the arid and parched-
a cool, rainy summer would ruin the fruit.
Jack has published over 350 poems in his career, many with his own photography. He specializes in a view of the commonplace and Americana.