It's Still Life

What better blessing than to move without hurry under trees?”
— by Naomi Shihab Nye

The Summer of 1958

Those summer days when the sun grew –
those were my spun white flats days.
Long as ribbons, a satin sheen across
the skies, and the hills soaking up nasal
sting of pine, and paths of pebble crunch.
I played in shallow streams of watercress,
and I ran — everywhere,
childhood is for running,
chasing simple days
catching simple light.
Our house was a solid white beacon,
its green awnings heavy with stripe sleep
against the sun, and there were trees
and soaker-hoses and clover in the grass,
and the only thing that stopped me
was the Sabbath — it held me spinning
in place, until I was set free again.

Written for dVerse Poets “Summer” prompt and inspired by “Last August Hours Before the Year 2000” by Naomi Shihab Nye