look at the sun, right there
going down over the hill
at the edge of the ocean
the same as it did that day
when I smelled summer flowers
for the very first time
standing where birds sang, but not for food 
to tell us how beautiful it was
and we should watch
I remember the forest too, 
from which we had come
the trees, and...
how they didn't want us to leave
knowing we didn't want to go
by surrounding us with their scent of evergreen everywhere
we picked tiny needles from the fascicles along the way
as we ducked their branches and cracked a few of them that had fallen down
was the best we could do to hang in that moment
 still staying the course on the boggy trail toward civilization
from our childish play
from our childlike adventures
lazy strides at first
until we got to the grassy knoll
then we had to go a little faster than we were
for soon someone would be calling for us
their voice getting higher and louder
blaring against the hillside in warning 
because the dark was coming to capture small boys
although, by now, we would have reached the field
as we timed it, with enough light to guide us
past the old the dog who was deaf and blind
over a thatch fence that gave tiny hands splinters if you were not careful
ten year old friends breaking off in their own directions
until they reach their paths to home
tired for bed, ready for dreams
of doing it all again tomorrow...
 and the day after...
...and the day after that
just before the summer sun disappears

July a colour
for which I wish for more paint
finish my summer