Abbie

14

Summer's Smudge
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As I listen to the steady sounds, I drift away.

An analog clock.
Tick-tock, tick-tock.

A runner's shoes.
Slap-slap-slap.

A restless bird.
Chirp-chirp-chirp.

Over and over.

The red second hand moves with every tick.
The scenery changes slightly with every resounding step.
The bird's volume falters with every new chirp.

But even a well-paced runner will tire.
The most restless bird will fail to fly.

As summer begins to fade away,
the world more visibly fluctuates.

And then I find the clock,
singing an endless song.
Tick-tock, tick-tock.

Tick-tock.