Sunday, September 14, 2014

"Indian Summer"

Indian Summer

Barefoot with a cool breeze,
Indian-summer kissed my shoulders
and my pony's rump.  It meant
reclaiming farmers' fields
shorn and stripped of summer's glory.

A golden-green canvas yawned
beneath our slow-rhythm tread,
and unlike spring's bursting frenzy
release was reflective, a weekend's respite
from school uniforms and social status -

where tears couldn't be seen,
voice raised in song, not heard,
and my wish to stay a child, sheltered.

It never lasted long, but sufficed
as the temporary fortification I needed
to persevere.

by Margaret Bednar, September 14, 2014

Middle school and high school were not easy for me.  I was very shy and a slow-bloomer.  Thank goodness I overcame shyness as it is quite a crutch and some who know me know might wish for a quieter me.  :)

This is for "Imaginary Garden of Real Toads - Sunday Mini-Challenge: September Sky".


Kerry O'Connor said...

How beautifully you have captured the golden green fields of youth. There is something timeless in a day like this you have described as if part of that girl will always remain.

Björn Rudberg said...

I recall summers as a period where you could stay a child.. and yes I was very late too, I mostly loved the lessons at school, but I hated the breaks, where everyone seemed to understand something I couldn't grasp.. but now I'm hard to stop talking.. sounds like we have walked similar paths.

Anonymous said...

Your first three lines and this "my wish to stay a child, sheltered." Beautiful.

Anonymous said...

A very sweet poem and you do bring that light and freedom of those breaks. The time that it still felt like summer but school was in session had a very magical feel (when one was out!) k.

R.K. Garon said...


Grace said...

I love the wistfulness for those sheltered days, a weekend's respite from school activities ~ Lovely indian summer memory ~

Thanks for participating Margaret and wishing you happy week ~

Susie Clevenger said...

What a precious capture of youth...a bit of wistful yearning for the freedom of those days...beautiful piece

Eleonora Usher-Rigby said...

The relatives of my grandparents' generation are all dead now. The ones of my parents' generation are dying little by little. Many of the properties I remember from my youth are gone now. Reading of this idyllic scene is bittersweet for me, but I thank you for writing it.
Thanks for visiting us at

Anjum Wasim Dar said...

while reading one can feel the intense heat of the season' but also the hint of change and acceptance ...beautiful poem

Marian said...

nice, Margaret. i can picture you.

Sumana Roy said...

"where tears couldn't be seen,
voice raised in song, not heard,
and my wish to stay a child, sheltered" the beauty and innocence sketched here...the soft bud before blooming...

Poet Laundry said...

Lovely and a tinge bittersweet. Those first two stanzas are so beautiful. I feel lazy and drenched in the last of summer reading them. I am glad you had this respite. I'm still shy a bit...though less so. And of course that photo is a dazzling accompaniment.