August Evenings

I live in the vale, in a lively neighborhood, 
With dogs barking, mosquitoes buzzing, 
Children playing at their camp outs, 
Their forts of light illuminating the trees, 
Their laughter serenading the yards with joy. 
Explosions of fireworks echo distantly, 
Police sirens scream over the hills, 
A hot air balloon breathes propane, downwind, 
Where the moon came up with the stars. 
My telescope searches the constellations 
For other evidence of noise, farther away, 
Yet more observable to those who listen right. 
 
At twilight I take a walk, past the old houses, 
Under streetlights recasting my shadow, 
While the parties are still going, intermittent 
Sounds of summer composing a cantata. 
Some people still have their garages open, 
Revealing all their curios to the world 
In messes of fractured organization. 
A horde of drunken men salute their beers 
At me, just a passersby, who only heard 
A fraction of their profane conversation. 
Two lovers swing in a hammock, arm in arm, 
Burying their troubles in each other's embrace, 
The garden lights staging a romantic haven. 
 
Up I go, out of the vale and onto the vista, 
Where the night sky is more visible, 
The last remnants of sunset surrendering 
To the moon, supreme on her indigo pedestal. 
Up here the houses are bigger, newer, cleaner, 
It's oh so quiet, not a sound can be heard, 
Only the faint breeze coming off the roofs. 
All the lawns are freshly manicured, 
Every light works, every window is shut. 
Everyone's inside for the evening 
After a long summer day, comfort drawn, 
Cozy in their wealth, proud of their status. 
 
Someday, I wonder, if my walk will reverse, 
The vista lent in yearning, yearning lent to the vale.