And so here we are at the birth of summer,
we see her, bright eyed and sparkling.
And the next thing we know, she is a toddler
in a bright yellow sun suit,
blond hair spilling over her shoulders
blue eyes as spicy as can be.
She looks at you, and you know that she knows
all eyes are upon her,
while finches dart and play in her hair,
she is perfumed in honeysuckle,
her smile lights up the sky.
Soon she is a girl, questioning and bright,
impossibly precious to all,
because we know this cannot last.
Thunder rumbles like a house being moved
as the sky purples, and the air,
once soft, turns electric.
Before our very eyes, she is a teen,
a goddess of rain and renewal,
to wash us clean of waste and ambition.
The air is so thick with summer
I feel the sun has buttered me
like a muffin.
And now she is a woman, potential realized,
become what she was meant to become all along.
She is the moment, the now,
the day that arrives just before tomorrow,
whether it brings storms, or harvests.
And soon, sooner than we would like,
she fades, and robins worry.
The sun reminds herself to set the alarm
for half past spring,
and she sets her mind to rest,
easing herself to sleep,
so that we might prepare, and know,
and wonder, “What did I forget?”
Only the air is still.
©2014 Christopher Reilley
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