A Transient's Summer Transition

 An evening in May, sweltering hot, a stunning contrast from the previous week, that was frigid, covered in frost.

In leafing trees, I tie up my tarp, so haggard and warped; though water runs on down through pinholes peppered about,
The steady roll of rain's kept clear at bay, so dry I stay, dampened sleeping bag bottom aside.
Following close to the showers now clear, a heavy humidity, rousing me from slumber deep, to see skies so blue,
An open path for thick white clouds, lazily, merrily strolling through, and cutting off the sun's serenade.
I tear the tarp down out 'o my space; on the ground I sprawl out to escape the stagnant heat, with breezes so far and few in between.
The load I carry in my pack, now heavier grown, since I tucked away winter bibs for a tattered brown skirt.
Rested under a pine, 'fore strapping gear on and taking my leave through a field that's lined with rail ties, yellow flowers, and trees.