the fan spins artificial wind into
your face. sweat sticks to the underarms of
every shirt. pollen drifts up your nose and
makes you sneeze, and your eyes redden and sting.
when you go to the beach, sand sticks to the
wet crevices between your toes and your
shoes sink into the grains. the ocean slams
against the shoreline and laps at your legs,
dampening the hem of your shorts. waves surge
and calm down and rise and calm, like clockwork.
the burning sun watches, swimming in blue.
orange leaves spiral down and meet the ground
only to be crushed beneath the sole of
a careless shoe. caretakers scrape the dead
children of the trees and pile them up for
kids to laugh and jump into. rain blankets
the grass and the sun comes out to warm it
dry, taking turns to keep the time turning.
the trees shed their hoard, leaving branches bare
in preparation for the cold ahead.
the earth settles down and waits for the chill.
the sun lingers, hiding behind clouds.
it does not snow where you live, but sometimes
you close your eyes and pretend that it does,
white falling from the sky and dusting the
rooftops. you open your mouth to the sky
and dream of snowflakes dancing through the air
and coming to rest on your tongue. you pull
your jacket tighter around your body
and shiver underneath your umbrella.
many things sleep through this period of
the year; you wish you could be one of them.
the sun rarely comes out to break the grey.
flowers bloom in thick grass and trees regain
their clothes, green leaves cloaking long branches. the
bees hum their excitement as they rest on
petals and ferry yellow dust between
blossoms. you open the window and let
the breeze drift in. birds hop from treetop to
treetop, broadcasting their joyful song to
everyone. the air tastes like blankets in
fluttering fields and honey on warm bread.
the world comes back to life under your feet.
the sun reappears, wearing blue and grey.
v. and then it starts all over again.