Summer Memories

I do miss when we were young and

the summer sun was warm

on our water speckled skin and

the air smelled like honey.

In my memories

you shine bright orange and

misquote Shakespeare,

“Would a rose by any other name smell as sweet?”

I rolled my eyes, in love.

The only cracks in those days were the smile lines on our faces.

The soft wind looped around us and

whipped the grass, scratching our ankles as

your hand brushed mine and

we looked into the July horizon.

The tangerine halo atop the mountains washed over the field,

the lake,

and us.

Dousing us in golden light and

we knew, without really knowing,

this type of summer

wouldn’t last forever.