Solstice

Summer’s song is wild and sweet. Sticky and sun-kissed. Salty and slow. A dribble of peach juice. Condensation on the outside of a glass of lemonade. A faded sun hat hanging in the hall. A damp towel. A pop of a flip flop. The rustle of a turning page. The melting of ice cream in a cone. A garden a light with hydrangeas. The call of a cricket in the setting sun. The awakening of fireflies. A wind chime calling back and forth within its self. The moon glow over the shushing water of the bay. A lady bug. A butterfly. The sprinkler first thing in the morning. The bike passing the porch. A thunder storm. The swish and gulp as you enter the pool. The cry of the gulls. The smell of a grill in the waning day. Chlorine saturated, cicada spinning, light holding magic hour.