Theories of Summer

Michael Steffen

I want to see the sunflowers of Sanborn, NY, stately luminaries chatting in a field somewhere near the Niagara Escarpment. It’s a warm, windless, August day. Cirrus clouds have hung their veils, herds of cumulus billowing beneath, dense and fluffy. Soon I arrive, and the flowers seem thrilled. They can’t stop hugging me. I roam, for hours, the ripening rows of mini eclipses, tall penumbras, browsing the yellow petals of their ancient books, debating each fuzzy stalk—fiercely happy and haloed—its various theories of summer.