Fall comes
And summer ends
It is no longer the burning secret
Our element of surprise
We now know
The wavering stories of our summer
When the river ran wild like the bare soles of our feet
And the bare souls of our bodies
Ready to soak up the words of those days
Yes, the winds are growing cold
The leaves are whimsical shade-changing
Umbrellas
And here we are
Standing beneath them
And the stories we lived
In those earthy, hot summer months
When the outdoors were our playgrounds
Are either stories think of,
Or trash in the crinkling leaves of autumn
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3 comments:
Micaela,
I really love this poem. I think my favorite part is "And those stories we lived in those earthy, hot summer months..."
You are such a gifted writer!
Love,
Sara
Micaela,
If you were going to tell the story of your summer, what would you tell? I like how you say "the river ran wild" like your "bare soles and the bare souls of our bodies" as though you are physically free, and your spirit is free too. When did you feel most free? Where were you? Will you tell me the stories you think of, specifically, what you remember? I want to hear this story. I want to remember this wild, freeing spirit. Thanks for posting. Keep writing.
Micaela -
Happy Birthday to you!
We will see you at your party tonight! Love you!
Sara & Jay!
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