Imposter

It was an August day incognito.
I joined the charade and laid
prone
in the hammock my husband hung
in the heat of July.
Swung
with eyes closed
and the sun didn't even
warm my skin.
Sunk in to a dream of a different day.
The way the clouds blew across the sky
was a lie. It said, I am October.
The birds turned their heads
unwillingly,
prematurely to the South.