Gray, Sticky, Awkward Summers

Misty mornings that melt into nowhere. Foggy streams and dewdrops on the leaves. Trees murmuring to themselves. Ancient tales, magic herbs, spells and lore from ages long lost. Laughing children, musing women. Broken glass and concrete.





Unyielding nights. 24-hour diners. Sunken eyesockets, purple and bruise-like. Combat boots and safety pins. Eyeliner as dark as coffee. Relentless car rides, jarring music, open windows, city lights. Concerts until the wee hours. Sweaty bodies, writhing pits. Chords and beats that rattle your bones, vibrating up from your collar bone, causing your teeth to chatter.



For her, summer lies somewhere in between childhood and adulthood--an odd gray area where the only certain things are late nights and early mornings.

Keep your hearts nailed to your heads. Keep your hopes lofty. Keep your eyes glazed and wide. This is a time to run barefoot and blow bubbles and believe in dragons and light candles and make wishes on stars. Because, really, most of these pretty things will be gone as soon as the leaves grow crisp.