A Letter In The Spirit Of Summer

It is nighttime now.
Shortly I will sleep.
I will sit by the fire.
Then lay by the window.
Letting in fresh night air.
Oh, how wonderful it feels.
Oh, how wonderful it smells.
I will hear crickets.
Even though we have never met
they sound like home.
Like old friends.
The bullfrogs will boing their vocals.
I will listen to them.
They will lull me to sleep.
I will dream of them
Swampy sounds.
They will bring me back to Summers past.
Piling on the swing.
Talking into the night.
Cuddling in a pile of friends.
We would talk aimlessly.
And laugh stupidly.
And eat liberally.
Never worrying about time.
We lasted until the sun came up.
Moving from the fire
to the porch
to the basement
to the living room.
At dawn we fell to the floor.
Blankets, pillows, sheets, limbs.
When the wind touches my face gently,
I will smell the cold waters.
All of them that I've spent time in.
Navigating rocks, searching for water bugs.
Sitting at the ponds edge catching sunfish.
Walking down from the waltz workshop to the river.
Daring to fill my hat and dump it onto my dry head.
Screeching with delight.
Swimming in the lake.
Jumping into the car wet
to race the thunderstorm home.
Back decks, daiquiris, fish lights, hamburgers, green grass, sweet dirt, morning dew, woodsmoke, sweatshirts, bagels, dancing all day, dancing all night, poker, chocolate ice cream, bare feet, crickets, beach nights, moldy tents, fireworks, lemonade, lakes, ponds, dawn bike rides, drive-in, Pirates of the Caribbean, flowery dresses, flip flops, volleyball, buses, theatre, sleeping downstairs, Lord of the Rings, tea on the porch, week long visits, long walks, deep talks, soft breezes.
These are the things that mean Summer at home to me.