Grill smoke wafts over trees
curling with familial laughter,
giggling, playing hide and seek
amongst the leaves
as it carries the savory scent of char.  
I peel open the tender green husk
of fresh shucked corn,
it squeaks - old door hinges,
guarding the secret of nature's gold.
It smells of sunshine, and days in the dirt,
like my daughter's hair, as she clings to my leg
with all the delicate softness of stubborn corn silks.  
We lick ice cream in the sun,
the cool creamy liquid puddles
in the canyons between fingers,
in the corners of smiles,
leaving their sticky memory
in cocoa colored rings around shared quips.
We catch fireflies,
collecting night's wisps in cups,
making wishes on the tiny, blinking,
handheld stars.
We let the moonrise tuck us in,
when the crickets start singing lullabies,
cherishing the long days
when the clock can keep the calendar company,
locked safe away in the closet,
until August's end,
forgotten.