Strawberry Summer

It's a handful of strawberries, still warm from the sun, with a few grains of dirt.

It's the slant of the sunbeams early in the morning.

It's walking across the lawn barefoot and soaking your toes in the dew.

It's brushing away the dirt and eating fruit warmed by the sun.

It's picking a dandelion and remembering the wilted bouquets you used to carry in to your mom. (Who then very graciously arranged them in a tiny special vase and made you feel like you'd brought her roses.)

It's mowing the lawn and coming in covered in dust, bugs, and what used to be the lawn because the prairie wind was strong and blowing from the wrong direction. Again.

It's the smell of sunscreen and bug spray and the sticky feel they leave you.

It's driving by a little roadside lemonade stand and remembering. Way back when. When you made cookies with your cousins and set up your own stand in front of Granny's flower shop. And at the end of a very successful day you divided the profits and became the proud owner of ten dollars.

It's sitting around a fire, warming your feet on the hot rocks. Checking the percolator to see if the coffee is strong enough. Realizing at about 10:00 p.m. that it's actually midnight.

It's lighting your marshmallow on fire and waving it in your brothers face until he blows out the flame.

It's falling asleep with your window wide open, the frogs and the coyotes singing you to sleep.

It's a thousand little feelings and smells and memories that bring you back to every summer you ever lived.

Thanks for being here.

xx

Tiana Lee