Summer, Summer

This poem was written at ten, at a summer camp. To the point of pain. To the point of shame. To the point of alchemy. This is the beginning. Without it there would be nothing.

Summer, summer,
How I love
Your bright and shining grace.
How all nature celebrates
Even in the rain
And storm.

The sun is shining. Birds are singing.
Scent of flowers in the wood.
And the aspens' gentle trembling.
And the clouds that drift along.

In the morning you run out to the bank
Of a little forest stream —
And you see in its clear depths
Little perches swimming by.

Somewhere there, beyond the bluish haze,
My hometown lies in wait.
Schools and shops and marketplaces —
Soon it's time to head back home.

The glow of bright summer days
I'll remember often, true.
Summer, summer, now goodbye.
I'll come back again to you!

The child believed they would come back to summer. The grown-up knows: there's no going back. But you can come back to yourself. Different. Alive. Evil. Free.

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