Sweeping toward my face is an icy breeze.It follows the hot sun and flip-flops,the pleasant cool water,the lethargy from sticky rooms,an unending humidity,now it is just a memory,a hot sand free-living kinda’ memory. Now begin the dark, the cold, the bleak. Remember the summeras the nights drag longer,as the leaves swirl and we requirelayers, heaters, jumpers, rememberthe vibrant green grassbeside the thirsty trees,the dry cracked mudsticking up beneath our feet, rememberthis feeling,on warm clear nights,the starry sky, courtesy of grounded …
The ChangeRead More »
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