Borderless Voices

Indian Summer

By Regina Camargo 9/21/22

The cherries are long gone

So are the cold, long and foggy days of mid-summer

Bay Area weather is an eternal paradox

Autumn announces itself slowly:

Soft golden light, long shadows on the sidewalk

Red, yellow turning brown leaves rustling under my feet

Indian Summer:

The heat, the dried leaves, lingering thoughts

Nostalgia, longing for what is not yet gone

The figs are bursting out of the tree

The strong scent makes the mouth water in anticipation

Persimmons and pomegranates arrive next

Burnt orange and deep red

A last splash of color before Winter.

I carry opposing seasons in my soul

A diagonal line connecting North and South

Autumn in the North, Spring in the South

Outono no Norte, Primavera no Sul

Minha mãe diz: “é meia estação”

“Half seasons,” says my mother

Seasons between seasons

Red maple and yellow ginkgo leaves

O amarelo escandaloso dos ipês anunciando o verão

O roxo intenso do manacá da serra

Bright yellows and deep purples announce summer

Saudade, vague impressions

A collection of snapshots

The memory insists on not forgetting

The cherries are long gone

I learned to anticipate the fruit that comes with each season in the North

I can only remember jaboticaba in the South

Jaboticaba, like my eyes, olhos de jabutica, someone once said

My soul finds solace in the blue skies

The blue sky is the same in the North and in the South

So am I