seasoning

Sippin soda not sweet tea the heat of the summer the way it used to be popcycles melting sticky hands smelly feet burning sands sea weed horse flies kids yelling and baby cries wind blowing sand in your eyes mmm feel the heat love the burn almost September surf will return then the fall the end of it all indian summer bummer back to the cave to be a slave to heavy coats and doting gloats so long heat of summer hello winter grave