Dancing In The Moonlight

Summer is always the one memory, no matter how many make up the memory, they all become singular, the all encompassing season, the heat, haze, sound, scent of burnt grass, the warm air in the dusk light, lying on the concrete looking up at the stars and feeling the warmth left to the ground from the day’s sun, slow moving people, long evening shadows, and, clouds, enormous climbing clouds, the occasional storm, that came as relief after a day of humidity, the scent of rain mixing with the earth, the steam rising off the tarmac after brief sun showers, shade itself, dappled light and carrying shadows, in the pine forest, the scent of sun warmed pinecones, needles and trees leaves a sweet scent in the air, orange blossom jasmine growing in the houses you pass by, cicada’s and the ever buzzing sound from the marsh, plans and food, a frozen fanta or coke, the lake slowly losing it’s height every other day, revealing the banks that haven’t been seen since the last Summer, the orange butterfly that seems so uncoordinated but uses the updraft of the heat to rise higher into the trees, the heat haze dancing in the air, the love and smiles of those you know, resting together, leaning, back to back, to support each others weight, or lain on the grass beneath a tree, in the shade, looking up pass the tree to the sky, which when you find a patch without any clouds seems an endless height, far higher than you could ever know yourself. Summer holds it’s memories sharper, more closely than any other I find.