We've laughed no sooner than cried. We've run and kept running. I have begun to yearn to sleep with the trees. To hold quiet in my heart and quiet in my mind. For the rivers to run still and silent. To rest in a blanket of white over the vibrancy and turbulence bellow. To let, and wait, and hold, 'til all becomes nostalgia, 'til new death has lost its sting, and seeds of new joy has time to germinate.
I want to rest in the fall of text books and teachers, simple days with love, new lessons with puppy, and a church seasons with new church family. I want to make things with my hands again in the quiet of winter. I am glad to know my city this winter. To walk on streets whose names I know, and places pressed with happy memories of summer. Happy that the cold will not blow through me.
Fair well Summer,