Monday, July 27, 2009

I sense...

I hear...
Skylar's panting breath beside me lying down
The clinking of ice cubes in my glass
Abby's baby monitor from inside the kitchen window
A fly buzzing around the porch
A chipmunk warning his friends that Skylar is near
My fingers tapping keys

I smell...
My sunscreen
A faraway fire
Pine

I taste...
Lemonade, extra sour, the way I like it
A hot, dry mouth that needs more lemonade

I feel...
A cool breeze I am grateful for, then I miss it when it leaves
My legs sticking to my chair
My clothes sticking to me
Heat from the laptop on my lap
Calm and quiet and slow on a hot summer day

I see...
The trees, standing stick still
The fireweed patches, blowing with the subtle winds down at ground level
Only four clouds in the sky that I can count
The eight dogs in the yard across from me, all sleeping still under thick doggy coats
My toes, painted pink, and hoisted up at hip level by another chair
The book I want to get back to while I melt outside in the heat.

It comforts me to feel like I'm back home, care free, on one of many long summer days that carry through May until September. But here, they are a fleeting few, grasped when they pop up in June or July. Fall is almost here in the Yukon, and I'd rather melt in summer heat than let that happen.

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