Taking raindrops from forest floors, we skimmed our hands over damp and shade-cooled leaves
respectively
barefoot in green clover, wildflower, tall grass tickling ankles and backs of knees//run on until the oak reaches for the river, dips branches in/leaves reflected again in the water still like glass we sent ripples through with toes and outstretched fingertips//leaned down from sturdy oak, even the ancient wood was warm in my hands
warm like sunlight
warm like spring that ran into summer before there was a chance to blink//rainstorms everyday at 2pm/we let the drops cool our humid, hungry skin until the sun skin came out to dry our clothes/ out until the moths fluttered low over the grass/ floating their way through carefully,
carefully until we found our way home to late dinners and warm beds.

06/09/2009

Author's Note: reliving childhood is good, and mine was better than most

Posted on 06/09/2009
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