Arm up, in the air, watch it dance across the sky, to and fro, to and fro. Let my fingers twist and twirl in the air; let them glide. Both arms out; up; background of blue and white, bundly perfection. Close my eyes, breathe in. Feel the sweat on my back and the burn on my shoulders – distracted; the jacaranda has burst into purple flame. The still air wills the little flowers to the ground and they drop – amethyst falls out of the sky. The grass is yellow and plays a warm symphony to the sun-drenched earth. It is a frantic, heated polyphony. Still, quiet, loud, ever moving, all at the same time, somehow, someway, and not slowing enough to be known through and through. It is a blur.
It is Summer.
There is no Spring here. Summer simply has attributes of Spring, and here, we must be content with that and watch the season turn on a dime; hairpinning its way from Winter in a fleeting instant.
In eleven days, I will turn seventeen. I will get my Ps. I will finish school. I will pretend to be a responsible adult for a year before becoming one; officially. I cannot hairpin like this warm season, into a more beautiful, loving, obedient woman. No. I will continue on slowly, learning always and never stopping, until I am made more like Him every day. And one fine morning-
One fine morning I will awaken with a clean heart and a renewed spirit. But I will beat on, boat against the current, through 'life', bearing always toward that one, radiant moment.
And then forevermore.