Summer breathe

Waking up to the promises of another summer day,
all windows open, gentle breeze circulating,
soft morning light calling you to the millions of possibilities,
like millions of question marks,
their queue pointing at the openness,
make your mind wander like a bee,
and your body buzzes of excitement at the prospect of a long, warm day,
anticipating all the little adventures of an uneventful weekend,
watching the rubies, sapphire, topazes, lapis lazuli, set in your backyard,
sprouting abundance by the minute,

Or standing in mute admiration of the myriad of mirrors
on the surface of the Channel
you’ll savor the amusement on a café deck,
of faded people, under faded pastel umbrellas,
with faded Hawaiian shirts from faded, old fashioned thrift stores,
who surrender to the gentle heat trickling into every pore,
turning them back into human beings,
stopping their busy minds, now floating in a gentle stupor,
that heat that pulls the strings of ease and laughter,
and chases the self conscious mind,
to let in the compost of nothingness,
on which sprouts the wit of slowness.

Or maybe you’ll stop at the funky fry bread stand,
to sit on the deck by the fishermen, them too immobile,
watching them sitting on the boat for hours, a can of beer in their hand, as immobile as the wooden piers,
lost in eternal contemplation.
You sit there, your mouth trickling with fry bread honey,
your hands sticky from that honey that turns you back into a child,
and you’ll lick your fingers, and won’t need to wash your hands,
because you’ll want to remain a child for the rest of the day.

Or you there, maybe you’ll be digging the dirt in your garden,
with the inexhaustible pleasure of playing with organic matter,
and you’ll pamper your salads, tirelessly tearing the weeds away,
and the salads will breathe their ease, and spread out,
stretching their polished leaves as if to thank you,
and you’ll look at your nails blackened with dirt,
and you won’t wash them either,
for you don’t wash away the dirt that feeds you

Or maybe you’ll go to the park on the hill, listen to the tall firs
telling you how strong and stubborn they are,
telling you of the power of life,
teaching you how to stand your ground,
with deep roots and enough flexibility to stand the winds.

Or, maybe, you’ll go to the beach,
and kick your shoes off,
and let the soles of your feet sink into the sand,
and you’ll allow your long imprisoned toes
to venture in the cool water and play with each other
and make you giggle like a child,
and if you giggle,
that will open the doors of the million bounties of simple pleasures,
just because,
just because, of the child within you.