Summer Saturday in South Alabama


Four 0’clocks at ten:

flowers closed and tightly rolled–

so much potential.



Dead Maple

The maple tree has died,

some kind of blight, they tell me.

No more scarlet leaves.




Ripples on the lake

lapping at white sand, green grass.

Dragonfly rides breeze.



Smells Like Saturday

The smells of pine sap,

lake water and outboard fuel:

summer Saturday.




Magnificent oak:

leafy branches embracing

world; great trunk strong, tall.



Evening at the Lake

Crickets start their song,

blue-grey water turning green,

giant moon rising.



Copyright 2013

T. Allen Culpepper


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