Separating the awkwardly feminine from the possibly Canadian...

If things don't change soon, I won't be able to fall sleep without the distant spills of thunder and light flooding the room momentarily as lightening chains fill the sky. I like the rain and the way it smells like breathing. I like the way the fringes of my jeans get wet as I trudge across the sidewalk. And I like the silence. Most people don't understand silence anymore. It's early. This solstice brings the hope of something new. Summer has always been kind to me.

This rain, this heat, this sweat that beads above my eyes, it keeps the corners of my mouth turned upright. Give me an apple and a backpack and stream full of snails. Give me grass stains and skinned knees and sweet-smelling grass. Give me crisped skin and water bottles and John Denver in the background. Give me summer, the way I know it but newer.

I'd like to ask a stranger to dance, if I only knew how. Instead, I'll just ask for story or a heartache or a tale I can keep telling. This season is the time for reckless mistakes, for abandon, for life.