Crawling Onward

The breeze nudges me and I am once again reminded that summer is crawling onward, up through the ground and down from the sky to the place where I stand as chlorine singes my nose and the sound of training wheels scrape my open mind. 

All around me, things are changing as I stand icy in the waters of yesterday, unmovable. 

The phone rings a familiar song meant for pavement rolling fast beneath the swollen tires of my Jeep as it plays beach chair rhythms somewhere behind me, but I stand here and cannot place the melody.

All that is familiar feels foreign, smooth pebbles slice imprints on the bottoms of my feet, throbbing from cheap flip flops chosen methodically from the color wheel rows of soft rubber in a store near the bank where I take too many lollipops on Friday mornings. 

Summer is crawling onward, curving around the corners of the house, whistling hazy rumbles of mopeds or secadas, dancing in its sundress, licking melted ice cream cones sprinkled with exhaust from the blue and white truck, a sweetness encased in an invisible poison. 

Papers rustle as I pass and I notice how they are scattered, my stomach twists at their invasion of my table, the grains of the wood hidden by letters by numbers by stories by equations by acrylic paintings and construction paper place mats, the entirety of the fifth and second grade summed up by a poster board stapled portfolio of everything they've ever done that was ever worth a thumbtack hole in a musty hallway and I wince as I wonder if butterflies danced when they carried them home to show me, for I have not looked. 

Summer is crawling onward, swelling it's liquid electricity in the clouds that follow me as I ease their minds as I sing-song remind him that he can pedal faster than any four year I know as I myself secretly wish for the sky to open up with me beneath it, a small speck of flesh ensconced in fear, a barely visible patch of soft hair glistening, trailing behind the others and in need of a trim, an echo of laughter rising up, it's hollowness enormous. 

I secretly wish for the hot rain of almost summer to beat me like hurricane rain, to wash away this Fear that comes and twists and turns and severs me from my own reality. 

Summer is crawling onward, underneath the darkening sky my children's eyes show Joy under the glow of the rolling clouds, I see them there, waiting for me to catch up, their arms open, faces upward to the sky, waiting. 


I felt one! Did ya feel that? I think it's raining! Is it raining? Yes! I felt that! Mom, did you feel any raindrops? Is it raining? Can we stay out for a little? C'mere Mom, it's definitely raining. 

So, Onward. 

I stand there in the grass with them, arms open, face to the sky. 


1 comment:

  1. We really must enjoy this time before Summer is gone and all we're left is wilting annual plants to pull out. How I love Summer, but it's so short here, and the winters are so long and miserable. I think even our writing changes with the seasons, don't you?


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