I want to live in a perpetual state of Summer. I want to always have a good book and the sun in which to read it. I want something big to look forward to or something good to remember. I want the lush green and the cool moist earth and the hard, hot pavement and the warm, smooth stones and the dry and brittle grass dying outside of the shade of a tree, parched while waiting patiently for the August rains. And I want you to be only a phone call away.
I want the sun on headstones and fresh wildflowers laid beside them. I want the gravel between my bare toes and scraps of dandelion roots beneath my fingernails from weeding. And I want to see you again.
I want warm berries, pregnant with the juice that dribbles down my chin and stains my fingers and the paving stones below. I want to lay my head down in the dust of the last years leaves and watch the jets trace contrails through the deep blue.
I want chicken wire fences and lazy mornings in bed and bare foot soccer in the rain. I want dripping ice cream cones and still days for rocket launching, alternating with winds to catch in the sail of a Sunfish. I want the water dripping on my legs and lap as I pull an oar out of on Lake Teedyuskung and to stand on the jagged rocks of Canandaigua and watch Squaw Island sink lower and lower into the blue-green glass.
I want to stay up late and only realize the time when I hear the birds begin to sing. I want to walk through the morning fog after a bonfire and feel safe wrapped in a borrowed blanket and my father's old fatigues.
And I want to lie down on a dock at night and stare at the stars and do abso-
This is basically an amalgamation of various Summers in my life. See if you can spot yourself.