Here and Now

This is a poem about middle age, turning and being 40

Now, a summer field
lays open, golden
September, ripe
beneath the lengthening
light; stretching on and on.
We have not noticed
the waning sun,
ignored the first turning
leaves and cooling
breath upon the air.
There is no spring
or fall for us,
flowering or picking.
We purple with the twilight
and fruit before the frost,
eternal for the moment
between earth and sky...