SUMMER
by Robin Shwedo
©: Robin Shwedo, 1985
Summer.
The days are ablaze with life;
heat shimmering off the sidewalks,
slithering up the outside walls
of the buildings,
giving people a funny, wavy look from
the distance,
as though they dance
while,
really,
they walk.
Children,
out of school,
screeching
happily
through the streets,
down the sidewalks,
careening around the corners,
playing tag,
hide-and-seek,
red rover.
Shouts –
"I'll get Johnny;
meet us for baseball"
fill the air.
Mothers and fathers
taking children
to the zoo,
the park,
wherever,
while the other parent works,
studies,
is otherwise disengaged,
or, maybe, just not there.
Evenings come later, this time of year,
giving rise to more time
for outdoor play,
cookouts,
lazing around.
No hurry to do things before
turning on the lights.
Life is a carnival,
a blast,
easier to move
(no heavy clothes
to weigh one down).
As evening arrives,
people wander home;
maybe a late dinner,
or,
dinner over,
sit outside
in the grass,
on the porch,
wherever,
talking out plans,
futures,
loves,
what-have-you.
Dreams
simply have to drift
from consciousness
into sleep,
as crickets serenade one to sleep,
and stars cover the land
as a giant blanket.
Summer,
everyone can be a child.
Most of us have a favorite season, and each season seems to have its own feel, little nuances that make it different from the other seasons.
This is from my collection titled Love, Feelings and the Seasons of Life, which is looking for a publisher.
