He says the cows are laying in the pasture,
a sure sign of rain.
Cicadas are singing a song so natural,
brief moments of silence
***** my senses.
I push off the warm concrete with my bare feet,
setting myself in soft motion.
Warm wind brushes against the layer of sweat
collecting on my face.
Across the street, yellow giants tower,
swaying a hello,
their necks craned to the sun.
I feel a velvety snuggle brush against my leg-
I watch the porch tiger
slink past to
retire to the house.
I follow.
Onto the cold leather sofa I think about
childhood-
with lemonade, and pool days that drift into pool nights,
soaking the energy right out of my bones,
leaving me wrinkled and properly exhausted.
I close my eyes,
I dream of the june bugs,
bouncing into one another,
bumbling through the tall green grass.
They invite me to follow.
I do.
Aug 19, 2019
Aug 19, 2019 at 11:41 PM UTC
He says the cows are laying in the pasture,
a sure sign of rain.
Cicadas are singing a song so natural,
brief moments of silence
***** my senses.
I push off the warm concrete with my bare feet,
setting myself in soft motion.
Warm wind brushes against the layer of sweat
collecting on my face.
Across the street, yellow giants tower,
swaying a hello,
their necks craned to the sun.
I feel a velvety snuggle brush against my leg-
I watch the porch tiger
slink past to
retire to the house.
I follow.
Onto the cold leather sofa I think about
childhood-
with lemonade, and pool days that drift into pool nights,
soaking the energy right out of my bones,
leaving me wrinkled and properly exhausted.
I close my eyes,
I dream of the june bugs,
bouncing into one another,
bumbling through the tall green grass.
They invite me to follow.
I do.
Summer in the south.
