Lord, It Is Time

Lord, it is time. The summer was very big.
Lay thy shadow on the sundials,
on on the meadows let the winds go loose.

Command the last fruits that they shall be full,
give them another two more southerly days,
press them on to fulfillment and drive
the last sweetness into the heavy wine.

Who has no house will build him one no more.
Who is alone now, long will so remain,
will wake, read, write long letters
and will in the avenue to and fro
restlessly wander, when the leaves are blowing.

— Rainer Maria Rilke

Yes, what he said. No need for anything more from me — except perhaps to note that walking at the cemetery is no longer an option, so the dogs and I are left to wander this avenue, up and down, up and down, as the leaves blow.

Stay tuned, gentle reader, and we'll see what letters post.