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Summer,

a cooing mourning dove at dawn,

the fragrance of rosemary on the fingers,

the deceptive stasis of a hummingbird,

the arc of a baseball into the center field seats,

local tomatoes,

the atonal din of the ice cream man,

emergent green corn,

an evening fire-pit with cold beer and cheese doodles,

the pull of a fish on a fly line,

crickets drowning out the sound of the TV downstairs,

a cocktail on the deck,

dusk dominated by fireflies,

trading shoes for flip-flops,

sleeping with the window open to a soft night rain,

bronze wheat blowing in the prairie wind.

This entry was posted on June 3, 2012 at 6:24 pm and is filed under Fiction with tags Kansas, summer. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.