It’s nearly one am; I’m awake
after a day of temperatures nearly 112 degrees.
I’m lying in the dark
listening to the clacking turbine of the cooler
blowing sweet moist air into my room.
I am grateful.
The ceiling fans’ sway
pushes the heavy air over my body,
finally reaching a level of comfort that requires a blanket.
I am reminded of a summer spent in Maine;
wild blueberries, lobsters, shrieking cousins’ play,
and the dewy wet blanket of an early morning chill.
Maine is always a little cool for my tastes in the summer.
I prefer the dry heat of the desert;
but my father was a camper
and loved the outdoors.
There is a certain smell
to the damp of camping;
tonight the swamp box
fighting the heat has achieved it,
sending my senses to summers
in East Coast adventures
amongst the wild my father preferred.
I can almost feel
the texture of the wet grasses
As I close my eyes,
I am immediately whisked away
hearing the unmistakable
of metal tent zippers,
the chortle of June play
in the sunshine and freedom
that those excursions afforded us.
Days were spent fishing or crabbing
with raw chicken bait on monofilament or in cages,
evenings of smoky fires and marshmallows.
It was simple then,
it seemed to be anyway—
the fantasy of ease
was a welcomed entertainment for all.
2016 copyright by Katie Pifer http://www.witchpetals.wordpress.com