Sitting perfectly upright,
contented and pensive,
she holds in one hand,
loosely, the reins of summer:
the green of trees and bushes;
the blue of lake water;
the red of her jacket
and open collar; the brown
of her pinned-up hair,
and her horse, deep
in the yellow of sunflowers.
When she stops to rest,
summer rests.
when she decides to leave,
there goes summer
over the hill.