July comes in, barefoot and sleeveless, ready to pour it on.
She opens some paper-thin orchid-hued petals
and smiles at the sweetness of their hue.
She has a thousand more blossoms in her bag.
She’s fond of high color, after all.
But mostly she’s interested
in pushing out the veggies and the fruit,
in driving the nuts and seeds toward ripeness.
She’s all about widening the leaves,
deepening the green, making edibles from light and air.
She has countless mouths to feed
and she intends to satisfy them all.
“Ripen!” she trumpets as she glides on the sunbeams.
“Grow! Become what you were born to be!”