July 21st, 2014

Around Starboard at Midnight and other sensitivities, it seems as if the gleeful amaze of June waxes slightly oversweet by July. The nature of heat tends to tire an engine; brittle the end of a catnip stem; or arc a late night ramble—as fireflies raise a few words skyward to mimic the stars.
His eyes ignite the garden we planted long before time froze. But will we stroll those paths again? Or shall memory remain an ever providential field? It must be the nature of Nature to accept what becomes.