Floor Polish and Wax Wings

Usually I don't start mooning about missing summers at the lake until mid July/August.
Still a treasured memory, worth sharing any time of year. 

Floor Polish and Wax Wings

When the wind is from the South along the mountain ridge
  The insects of the lake all blow to the cove,
Where in pockets they gather,
  Not by choice so much as rather
Behind these shore trees, in this eddy of the summers’ air,
  The hand of the wind has pushed them there,
Into a small typhoon here they cyclone around,
  They swirl,
Are they black birds in a kettle?
  No, they are the bugs,
Who around and around spin as captives
  In this twisting cloud

Here is opportunity!
  Though common is the Cedar Waxwing,
He is not often seen by we backyard birders,
  Excepting those whose yards back to the lake or pond,
Green as summers sunlit oak leaves, and
  Sporting a raccoon’s bandit mask, they,
From their perches in the trees
  Sally out to raid the maelstrom,
Where in hovering as a grander slow winged hummingbird
  They snap with their beaks,
You can hear them, snap snap! Upon the wind
  While they trap the July fly and summers’ midge

More than once have I
  Spent such a sundown on this porch,
It is not mine, although I love it,
  With a beer or cocktail in hand,

Then comes Cousin Wendy, done cleaning her kitchen,
  She is not cross, nor angry, nor bitchin’
About something ‘bout the kids
  (Who all are grown now)
Or the next project of destruction
  With it’s plans to remodel the basement,

She just says, "What here?"
  I tilt my head,
   And we watch the birds