Flight

by Barbara Wimsatt


The low September sun
Emblazons the greens
Burnishes the gold
The breeze still gently soothing

The sweeping fingers of the maple
Still a caress
The scented air an opiate

A vision returns
Time for the monarchs 
To make their journey south

Was this just a dream
Long ago on a day such as this
We witnessed mesmerized
By fluttering and flowing
A myriad of orange wings
Spangling through green leaves 

Last year near the pond
Where a few milkweed grow
We reeled in wonder 
At the stunning aerobatics
Of two glorious monarchs
Flying in perfect formation 

This year the milkweed stood bare
Had they gone on their journey
Or were they just gone?

At night by candlelight
We sip wine and listen
To the frenzied dance/singing
Of courting katydids
And search for glints 
Of vanishing fireflies

Once we saw orange wings
In the park
Lightning like lights at night
Now we see streetlights

* * * * *

Barbara Wimsatt: Born during the Depression, parents lost their business; moved into 1 bedroom apartment; grew up during WW2: Victory gardens, running around the neighborhood, biking to the library, filling up basket with books. Father died when she was 9; Mother started working. College was inexpensive in those days. Worked for a year to start; then only summers to pay tuition. Majored in Literature, wrote poetry, switched to philosophy when there were virtually no women. Switched to psychology, worked as a clinician. Married a philosopher; had a wild lovely son. Finished a Psychology PhD on Women’s Careers.