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Indian Summer

Dirt roads run everywhere taking us home or where we need to go

Lemonade, which I hated for the longest time

Seems to be the only thing keeping me alive as long grass waves in the air

Living here in summer is like drowning because the air is thick with unfallen rain

And the sun withers us into the ground and feeds the algae that we can’t get out of the pool

Ellie with a Coke during the week we cut the hay dangling her tiny legs over the bridge which is only two feet off the ground

The smell of the bonfire we had with the neighbors, burning old wood from the barn door that got broken off by my horse

Bringing straw reeds up to the house to weave, but just throwing them away because we are terrible weavers

You accidentally wishing on an airplane instead of a star

Stealing your brothers favorite pillow and favorite shirt and hiding them in the cellar when we were ten

Me finding the shirt again when I was thirteen and wondering if we ever returned the pillow

The loft that we shared while you were here

The perfect popcorn we made that your dad dumped an entire salt shaker into and pronounced “the best”

The hilarious photos we took when we were messing around with the old fashioned stuff we found in the barn

Me falling off the hay bales and into the hay and thinking for ten minutes I had actually died and checking for a pulse because I was afraid of heights

Jack and Eva coming over and us all falling into the creek together while we were fishing

The Indian summers that we spent together when we were kids

But it can never happen again.
 




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