You stealer of sunlight and warm ocean water.
You bring apples and pumpkins and take away my corn and tomatoes.
Sure, the crowds are gone and the beach rolls out its welcome mat, beckoning me to come.
I go, but not in my swimsuit.
I wrap myself in a towel, warm against the hurricane wind.
I close my eyes and lift my face, capturing what’s left of the sun, imprinting it on my memory.
I need enough to last until June sets things right.