Scorcher

In the summer twilight,

a couple of hours after dinner,

we like to take a walk.

The birds have turned in.

The air has finally cooled,

but the crickets and katydids

are getting so worked up

that the lightning bugs catch fire

a few feet above the lawn,

just where we left them

when we were kids.

Now and then

we pass another couple

from one of the green, old,

more or less identical

streets of our neighborhood

as they move through the atmosphere,

mystical and obscure,

their voices softly registering

the news of the summer.

Good evening,

we say to each other.

Lovely night, isn’t it.

What a scorcher, we say

with gratitude and affection

for this shared mystery

of being human

on this dark little planet,

on one of the slender,

gracefully swirling arms

of one of the smaller galaxies.