I think of you in August
because that is when
you seem to come.
Light and sunshine
and warmth and laughter.
And I know that I will see the leaves fall
and the windy excitement of change
swirl around us as we sit watching the boys play.
Hot bodies and cold fingertips and halloween candy
All our best efforts to craft.
Life doesn't creep up on me then,
because I am remebering to hold it tightly
because I am with my friend
who loves me any old way I am and
understands me and my five year old
explicitly and my sheltered, inward life and
my neurosis and my need to show off
and my need to cry at nothing and
my need to talk when there is nothing
to talk about precisely.
The problem is when winter comes and the leaves fall
she retreats like a sand crab back to her northern, icy cold,quaint and far away life.
So I find myself looking towards the fall with leftover excitement
realizing I will have to hold all the chimney smoke
and cold rocks and crumpled leaves and
ghostly playground noises in myself. Letting them simmer into a pot of
something new. A bit like beef stew sans the beef.