summertime real. a poem.

I love the smell of summer,

soil like unsweetened chocolate

bittersweet

under my nails, my

skin

stretching out, welcoming the hard press

of heat,

heavy and thick,

making me feel

real

summer truth rising. a poem. 

HEAT.

rising with the sun

then

PRESSING

hard

against my heart. i STEP

hesitant

on the newly mown 

grass, the FOLDING and BENDING

of each FRAGILE strand

crisp then 

cool

between my toes

too long stuffed in winter

shoes, each step 

FREEDOM,

the bright red of the trumpet

vine SCREAMING

with the release of

TRUTH.

every stamen stretching,

reaching 

for

HOPE.

again. a poem.

it’s too much sometimes, isn’t it?

the six beat song of the cardinal

the green reach of the wintered plant

perennial as promised

emerging new once

again

 

“Therefore we do not lose heart…”
Corinthians 4:16