at Sleepy Eye

days stretched out so long, they toppled off the end of the weathered dock into the spring-fed cold at Sleepy Eye among the shadows between the pilings swam the uncatchable ghost of a walleye (suitably fish-tale-sized) someone years past had called Walter every summer we saw him jump, breaking the lake at dusk, just offshore … Continue reading at Sleepy Eye


sun warm summer honey clings in slow drips to fingertips the bees pulse in reels honeysuckle drunk and leaves sleepily weave the golden hours between cicada beats seconds slow and time is measured by the gentle bend of sweet green blades and the dappled dance of maple shade © Sarah Whiteley

summer’s end

in August the evenings pulse in insect anthems and the curled moon bows beneath the weight of summer's passing the air presses its grass-sweet breath against the earth in kisses that scorch the first verse of summer's end