blades of grass

 The blades of grass are growing tall and the first days of summer are making me feel like I have something in common with the world. I walk around outside like I wasn't born to die or change, I see the words forever written on every wildflower, and I go to sleep with a heart full after sowing in the garden or sitting in the sun. I don't know how I keep from letting my heart go pale, like my legs, in the other seasons. It has to be the memory of this — the pink & blue morning sky, drinking coffee while counting spots on lady bugs, eating crackers and cheese while the soft breeze hums, putting my hands out as I walk and feeling the tall grass roll against me, snapdragons, cosmos, freckles becoming like stars on the faces of those who press against the sky, naked sleeps, and the inability to hear the exhale that comes after a thought full of sadness. I'm too happy and soothed with summer to notice what makes a heart break.

 I'm going camping this weekend and I don't want to miss a moment of it. We haven't been camping in a long while — unless you count sleeping in the back of our van after a night of too much liquor and waking up to pee in the mountain rain. We'll drive to Waterton, we'll eat early am hash browns on the way (my favorite), we'll watch the campfire roar, we'll listen for forest noises, we'll fish and we'll dig at the roots of every good day as if we don't know how to have a bad day. It will be the first bite of summer and it will taste fine like fresh bread soaked in butter.

Camping and summertime, I am yours. You are mine.

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