Smmr.

"When the moon fell in love with the sun, it was golden in the sky, it was golden when the day met the night..." -P!atD

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I lay here, trapped, folded between thick blankets. I stare up at the ceiling, making shapes from the popcorn stucco just like I did nightly in the spring by lamp-light.

It's summer, now, and the days have become longer. The rises in the wee hours of the monring, pulling me from my bed, and doesn't release me from its grip until late in the evening, though sometimes I slip off into the land of dreams when he's breaking for lunch. And sometimes I don't listen to him, don't obey his laws.

Now is one of those times.

I've been told what summer is, been sold the splendor of its presence. The freedom of this season, the juxtaposition of young spirits and aging bodies. I can't quite say I agree at times.

Now is one of those times.

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"Well he was just hangin' around, then he fell in love, and he didn't know how, but he couldn't get out, just hangin' around 'cause he fell in love. In the middle of summer..." -P!atD

///

Spring is the season of growth and renewal, summer the time to celebrate all that has come before handing things off to autumn. Summer is the season of warmth, of happiness and of joy, of new discoveries and affirmations in the seeds you have planted.

I lay there still, caught between cotton, a juvenile in my rebellion.

If summer is all these things, then why am I so cold?

 

The End

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