I
can’t wait until summer, when the ocean’s warm enough to swim, and the nights
don’t require a jacket. Spring is when everything wakes up, and tidies after
winter’s nocturne, but by the time summer comes the dust has cleared from our
minds and our eyes. We are awake. Now it’s time to play. No one gets much work
done in the summer. Blue skies and pearly clouds catch the corner of our eye.
Songbirds and wind solos drift into our ears, and the crisp smell of full green
leaves on every branch and bush break any concentration we can muster.
We
become a world of little boys and girls, and little boys and girls are made to
play. Out into the fields, up into the trees, over the sand and down under the
water, we go everywhere, laughing and smiling as dirt gets on our hands, and
water up our noses.
At
night light and music drum against our walls as we dance. Glasses tip and
laughs ring as we weave and circle around each other, barely touching, but so
close, children no more.
Then
the clubs close and the lights dim, and all is quiet, but not asleep. Once more
to the fields and the sand, to gaze up at the night sky, to look out at the
soft light of the moon. We look around and wonder, questioning the vastness all
around us.
But
soon our eyes begin to droop. Time for bed.
And
the next day we’ll do it again.
