fledgist | At the end of June

We wait for morning,
hot, steam rising after rain,
green trees are glowing.

Outside the bluest
flower draws our waking eye,
such perfect colour.

I watch Mexican
roofers laying tarpaper
on the newest house.

A late breakfast is
the summer's finest pleasure,
tea makes me joyful.

I name this moment
the one that should never leave,
freeze now this second.