familiar words.
summer evenings. humid environments, ceiling fans circulating hot air and the smell of old things. crickets singing their sweet songs in the darkness, for no reason other than understanding rituals. how the smells change with each coming season; the first strand of summertime breezes replaying memories of summers lost in your mind. snow and the crisp winter air only a memory of nothing more than 183 days away. regret of times where this transformation slipped ones knowledge. seeing growing up and changing years in a new light. hoping for something more. realizing it is possible.
I like this. I like these memories. and I don't know where I would be without ceiling fans, warm summer nights... and those crickets.
I like this. I like these memories. and I don't know where I would be without ceiling fans, warm summer nights... and those crickets.