Something about summertime that stirs the imagination and invigorates the soul. Stealing off and skinny-dippin down at the Cimarron River, if mama ever knew, the lickin I would have received. Special days and times, now so precious to me.
Old tin roof, leaves in the gutter. Yellow jackets on the watermelon, honey-suckle in the air, Daddy turning on the sprinkler, letting us run thru it in our underwear. Falling asleep in my Grandpa’s lap, to the sound of his pocket watch ticking in his vest. Angel Food Cake on the counter and a silver fork in my hand.