lemonade on the lawn
��������� �����center of the world -the temperature reads at seventy-five, enough to make the mercury smile. our door keeps getting egged slowly closed, like schoolchildren prodding it with grins and malice -
the wind plays with it. the wind from our springtime cantilevered window. flowers. sunlight is as pure and bright as liquefied crystals, gobs and dollops of it sticking to my eyelashes like rain. brightening our vision, our eyes getting washed clean with dish detergent, with Joy. (warning, blatant metaphor)
signs along the road, warning gleeful children here. warning shirtless men and bikini-clad women here. warning beach ahead jampacked with people. warning springtime is earthquaking all around.
warning wintertime you have been genocided. the berlin wall of wintertime has fallen and the iron curtain is replaced with grandmother-lace drapes, in the breeze. delicately embroidered with bluebells and the surround of applepie.
baseball frisbee and basketball. tanned girls in white visors and jean skirts. flip-flop sounds make the percussion, the grass with wind through it sings.
so much. tied to the clock in the classroom because you can feel the warmth seeping in through the walls, you can feel the sunshine like a superhero trying to pry the roof off and let itself in -
to defeat drudgery.
and onward! but this time, running!