It makes waves.

It molds delicate demure dancers out
of bright green leaves.

It tosses back her long wet hair
to reveal her rose-tinted cheeks
and golden freckles.

It is a ghost that raises
the hairs on the back of your
neck and suddenly-slam!-the
door shuts behind you.

It pounds the rain down on the
sidewalk, making rainbow patterns of
long forgotten hopscotch games
bleed across the black pavement
into the soft green grass.

It is the summer wind
that cools down the scorching heat
just enough for little
children to climb trees and
chase the ice cream truck
down the street barefoot.