Summer

Our days are spent in the light of the sun, in the fresh of the air, begun with crisp, green leaves pulled from the garden’s grasp. We run through sprinklers. We dance through wild flowers. We monitor the growth of blueberries and cherries and limbs. We laze in hammocks. We muddy our hands and scorn our manicures. We delight in the simplicity and vibrance of worms in compost. We taste of sun screen and strawberry popsicle. By sun’s decent, we collapse on cool grass.

And in the evenings we go fairy hunting. We catch flashing twinkles in jars and hold the magic in the palms of our hands. Sticky and sweet from a day well spent, we ache from nostalgia and gratitude. Childhoods revived by the pull of the youth in our care.

We ease into cotton sheets and sleep to the sounds of whirring fans and croaking frogs. This is the gift that we give them, so that one day they too may pay it forward.