Breeze

Then followed that beautiful season... Summer....
Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical light; and the landscape
Lay as if new created in all the freshness of childhood.
~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I'm not sure what today is.

Is it a spring day, with its cool breezes and twittering birds in the gently swaying tree branch?

Or is a summer day, with its sky of the most perfect blue, frosted with wispy hinds of cloud, and the beating kiss of

the golden sun?

It is neither one nor the other.

It's "sprier."

A flawless mix of spring and summertime...a rare find, like some jewel of perfect caliber found in some desolate ruin amid the unyielding desert sands.

And so I lay sprawled across my blue bedspread, on my stomach with my ankles crossed behind me in a reminiscent fashion of my high school days...

...windows open wide, the melody of the breeze causing the curtains to dance and my hair to rustle over my cheeks.

The air is scented of flowers and freshness, the faintest hints of rain and fresh dark earth waiting to be upturned.

This is a day for daisy chains, widespread meadows, straw hats and bare feet.

This is a day for acoustic guitars, un-lined sketch pads, and charcoal pencils.

This is what I love.

I want this...always.

Summer is the time when one sheds one's tensions with one's clothes, and the right kind of day is jeweled balm for the battered spirit. A few of those days and you can become drunk with the belief that all's right with the world. ~Ada Louise Huxtable