The sound of fresh rain
finally hitting the hot summer streets,
brings back memories and a twinge of pain
wishing for a time long ago.
The smell of the summer storm,
Lingers in the air tonight,
and leaves me a little forlorn,
for a place forever lost.
Weeks spent every year,
The best part of the summer
spent with those I loved so dear,
gone now, impossible to return
I ache for stick races,
puddle jumping,
lightning chases,
and evenings counting thunder claps.
Pops and granmama. A quilt old and worn.
A tiny blue room filled to the brim with love.
Playing cards tattered till nearly torn.
A peiece of my heart that no longer resides at 1 E. brookside, but instead in a passing summer storm.
