Somewhere to Long For

I long for a summer of beauty.
The heat may scorch my lungs and the wind may blister my skin,
But I have been without the sun for far too long.

I woke up to find myself here,
bathing in this summer night.
These woods open up and dance,
the trees creaking in unison.

Nothing is truly beautiful,
Without some measure of challenge,
So love will be our end ascent.

I have slept through the dark of winter,
Arisen into the beginnings of spring,
And walked into the halls of summer.

I am adrift and at peace.

Thursday Evening In Passing, June 1952

It's nearing dusk, in your small corner of America.
The trees are still and the grass still green
And here hope abounds along the streets.

You find yourself passing through a park
With children laughing among the trails,
Marveling at the world made brand new.

Heading back through town you pass the church,
Lights aglow with steeple reaching for the stars.
Hallowed hymns on hallowed ground.

Stopping at the bakery on Main Street,
Something warm, something fresh;
A loaf of French bread would do nicely.

Passing through the neighborhoods,
Runners and sprinklers and sometimes the both,
Decorate the sidewalks in the deepening evening.

Home, the lights are on and music unfurls through the windows,
Marrying itself to the crickets, the creaking trees, and distant thunder.
Was there ever a more magnificent life than this?

Fields of Summer

Salt of the earth, sweat on your brow;
Faded glory born through sunlight and summer.

Jeans with rips, hearts on the mend;
Earth on your hands and sky above.

No boxes, no confines;
Limits belong to how far you can run.

Full of laughter, empty of change;
These warm nights hold nothing to fear.

Wind in our hair, your hand in mine;
Here there is warmth beyond the streets.