Drawing away

The cicadas are out, buzzing from the trees. An old man walks slowly in my direction, using his cane to sweep leaves and candy wrappers off the sidewalk and into the road. As long as his own path is clean, he has succeeded. I see him often but I never know whether to smile at him. Does he clear the sidewalk out of anger, or out of concern?

I make note of the trees, the green green leaves. The sunlight is thick and hot. In spite of these things, I know summer is fading. The heat is drawing away. I walk through the park, saying my fond farewells. I'm ready for something new.