summer magic

I love these warm, yellow evenings

with long shadows and golden edges 

The grass just begging us to 

kick off tight, hot shoes and 

feel it, cool and soft beneath our heels. 

How could they rest tired heads 

on their pillows at eight

(such finality)

when the sun has barely begun

to pull up its own covers?

When the sky is still flush with rose

bidding you not to look away

as it turns a shade of periwinkle
that paints the world in twilit blue,

and finally, deepest indigo

dazzled and star-strewn.

So many wonders yet to behold

And we tell them to close their eyes!

How can they accept

that the day is done spinning magic spells

when the fireflies haven’t come? 

Lazy landings, 

claimed in gently clasped palms,

oh lesson in gentleness! 

The day’s last race, 

the fairy-light chase before bedtime. 

They tell us magic isn’t real

But they’ve forgotten what it is to be 

Six on a summer evening