Summer

The feeling in the air is strong,
Like a blanket, wrapping me up, enveloping my being.
Yet still I hear nothing.
I see the warm haze, swirling, a tornado of heat,
And I am the hotspot, the eye.

I can smell it, .the smell of fresh cut grass
The freshness in the air.
I can taste the humidity on my lips, a sensory delight, but in the wrong sense
Synaesthesia in real life. My loud green shirt gleams in the sunlight.

Its coming, I’m sure.
It has to, it happens every year, breaking the shackles of winter with the help of the mediating spring.
Over the field, in the distance, a buzzing. A bee flies past, a natural imitation of the unnatural,
the mechanic.

As the tractor rumbles over the corn, the microcosm of summer conquering the harsh dryness of the winter, the returning hero of the war, I look up at the clouds. An aerial sea, a cool blue, splashing my skin.  I raise my feet, dip them in, and relax.
Summer is here. I can feel it.