Just over the next rise

Rootbeer youth,
hearts like shuffled cards
each popsicle summer
melting perfectly into the next
Kelly Richstein

As I prepare to go to work today I feel a little less stressed. I can legally play hooky because I don’t need to be there as early as usual. There is a sense of the year winding down – a typical reordering of nature’s rhythms for someone in education. I can hear the sounds of a neighbor’s sprinkler…chk…chk…chk…hisssssssss. This sound of summer will soon be accompanied by the smell of cut grass. The poem above can be found impressed into the concrete walk at Owens Beach in Tacoma. The words remind me of the times when the concept of adulthood was still mysterious and far-off. How strange to have the same feelings of uncertainty about life as I had as a child – I thought I would be more grown-up by now. Summer is a magical time for me – let it begin.