Summertime Follies with wind running rampant through my hair. It conjures up memories of the past. The past when grams sat under the catalpa tree sipping her fresh brewed iced tea and talking about the depression era. It begs the soul to ask things of itself that only I could possibly know or would that be true if it werent so wrong within my heart? Why do you torture me so summertime? Your promises of fun and frivoous abandon tinged with desperate hopes for better days ahead and here I sit broken. Broken like a wounded titmouse teetering precariously on a branch just past the overpass with traffic lunging gregariously close below. Closing my eyes now with a hope to enlighten the future by ways of my past, if only blind eyes could see and deaf ears could hear.My heart could be happy in its loneliness.
– Divyne Morrigan