Night always comes
I cannot talk about trivialities when the rain is coming down like a garden sprinkler. I remember
the smell of the newly mowed lawn, dandelions and the odor of lilacs intoxicating us as we play, running around like fleas, light and jumpy.
We would feel the chilled sprinkles under the sun and as laughter would increase so would our appetite.
Watermelon juice dripping like joy from our mouths.
We would be sticky from it all day, it would mix with dirt – we couldn’t care less.
The rain would come,
sometimes thunder, and we would retire to our bushy hideout
earthworms would join us,
the damp earth would invite stories to be told,
hunger cured from imagination,
leafy soups and berry compote.
Never wanting to leave,
the night would always come.