Mariana

15

She: Summer

Summer was the wrist of woven thread.
She was the long braid, golden and glimmering-
cascading down caramel shoulders.
She was the saturated colors; greens, yellows, reds, pinks
colors that cover every surface,
coat every sight like sticky, syrupy candy
that drips onto the playful little fingers of her children.
She was the white noise,
the chirping, humming,
whistling, creaking, crackling.
She was the heat shimmering off the dusty pavement,
and the scorch of the angry sun attacking the air.
Summer was the inaudible force behind the curtain of every mind
creating careless decisions and perfect adventures.

Then Summer was not.
She was evanescent; a brief flawless instant.
The thread that she once was began to fade
the designs were lost in the pale hues and tattered string.
The braid that she once was greyed;
hung limp against bony, sun-spotted skin.
The vibrant colors that she was disappeared,
leaving the world as hollow and vague
as an incomplete paint-by-number.
The noise she once was became hushed
and all silence became thundering and overpowering,
drowning out nostalgic thoughts of her unblemished face;
her desire for escapades and journeys.
The heat and anger she once was was swallowed up by an unforgiving chill;
her warm presence no longer.
The spark of ideas she once was was conquered
by the careful soldiers deliberation and hesitation;
defeated by the plague of pros and cons.

Without her, tumbling into the sea of missed calls
and marked calendars becomes inevitable.
With her, the fear of time running out washes away
and every hazy moment is etched into our minds.