Ode to Summer

Holding a sugar cone with black raspberry chocolate chip ice cream beginning to melt as soon as it comes into contact with the hot air.

The cry of a mourning dove stirring me from sleep.

Rhododendron in hues of pink, lavender, and blue, like a thousand fluffy bouquets around every corner. 

Luscious greens and the melody of tree frogs and crickets chirping away into the night.

The golden evening light climbing the side of the building, a masterpiece of glistening reflections.

The little cat on the windowsill, with his dainty white-sock paws folded under his chest, intently watching us cut stuffed toast at breakfast on the balcony. 

A thin crescent moon in a deep blue sky, fading to a glowing orange on the horizon.

The grace of a swan fanning his wings, alone in the water.

Thick white clouds, like snow covered mountains rising over the city streets, full of wonder and anticipation.

Sinking into a soft patch of grass, like a foam mattress instantly taking our shapes.

Rainy season. 

Mushrooms emerging in the shade and underneath fences, clusters of them like miniature umbrellas arranged by size. The smaller ones standing under the larger ones, and smallest ones squeezed against the stems in between.

The beauty of plantain lilies, I hadn't noticed until now, their white bell flowers transform into a soft lavender at dawn. 

A new straw hat.

The trembling chin of my favorite neighborhood cat, purring and collapsing onto my hand, his furry white belly exposed and vulnerable, rolling over twigs and soil. 

A cargo ship making its way along the shore, everything growing quiet and still in its presence. 

Dragonflies whirring overhead, so many of them, fluttering fluorescent greens, sunlight filtered through their paper-thin wings. 

The last French fry. 

The sweet floral and coconut scents of sun lotion on the beach, salt water and sweltering heat.

A bright and puffy yellow sunflower, its weighty flower head titled down from a towering height. 

The excitement of a bowl of popcorn circling in the microwave, pop, pop, popping like fireworks.

New neighbors, different smoke.The skunky smell of weed making my eyes water. 

Remembering not to place something I don't want to lose in the front zip pocket of my bag that I'm constantly opening and closing. 

Re-reading the same paragraph over and over in bed, the light dimmed, my eyelids heavy with sleep.

The black grease stains on my legs from my bicycle chain after a long trip. 

Binge watching Stranger Things. 

The thunderstorms.

Our silhouettes embracing by a sycamore tree. 

Bonding with a friend over Dawson's Creek.

Overhearing a young musician say, "Do I want to be in a wedding band or the lifestyle being in a wedding band would allow me?" 

Writing to remember and be remembered.

The joy of gliding a fountain pen across the page, midnight blue ink.

Taking forever to leave the house even when we've checked everything off the to-do or to-bring list. 

Having tea with my family.

Focusing on a detail and working outwards. 

The clanking of sail boats swaying side to side in the bay, like wind chimes, early in the morning.

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