Summer Memories – Summer Light

Summer Light
Gaboo

Summer—near a window—and twilight streams through the glass propped half open. I’ll admit I’m sitting on the can. It’s summer, an evening in July, and I’m eight-years-old when school seems a thousand rules away. I hear the kids in the neighborhood, running with sticks, and shouting the next game—who will be the Enemy and who will be the Good Guys? Boys, girls, like jubilant hyenas bounding as the pack rallies. Maybe somebody new will be there?

I remember summer by the light, the sun’s angle, past peak in the sky, with an orange hue over dry hill silhouettes. I know that soon I will be out there, a kid in the fray, plucking all the dreams and experiences that a summer evening drops.

Share

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *