Flowers nodding in the dry breeze seem to whisper to each other of summers past, while trees with shifting branches, and crashing leaves tell a tale of it coming once again. Birds travel through the soft edges of it as they fly to the nest, chirping to their hungry babies.
It’s time they say
Summer is coming, spilling light like water from a bucket, sparkling, splashing, filling up the air. A time of plentiful, long days, and warm nights.
Whispers, on the edge of summer fill the air.
They’ve been waiting
The garden is poised, ready to pirouette, graceful dancing in the moonlight, glimmering by day.
As the shade softens, and light goes golden, shadows will turn dusky.
Insects hum, earth bakes, leaves will wither and wilt.
Children’s laughter will peal out over the sound of sprinklers. Drifting down hot pavement, as ice cream melts on wooden sticks.
Parks will fill, roads will empty, seekers of the shade will gather.
Water will sparkle, splash, and children will shout, people will fan themselves and proclaim how beautiful it all is.
Here on the edge of a summer season.
Jen @ The Light Laughed