Season Maker

The sweet assault of lavender greets me as I tread
Into the garden that has consumed my hours.
I watch as light dances swiftly on the flowers,
Deep reds, pale whites and soft yellows glow
As the sun caresses them to wake from the dark.

I wander down the steps into the grove,
Shadow enveloping me until I belong.
Summer is mine to create, not inhabit.

I turn, and watch again, as the light dwindles
At the highest edge of my descent.
It flickers, considering, then falls
Away from my austere gaze.
The scent of lavender dissipates,
And I am drenched in rainwater sweet, as
Glowing summer fades to burning flame...