It's Summer

You are a girl of summer, Jonathan says.
And I think, maybe I am.

At last, tis the season of sailboats, sandcastles and sunsets.
Tis the season of turquoise waves, bubbly sea foam and searching for sand dollars.
It's the season of salty beach fires, fried oysters and fresh squeezed lemonade.

We will stay up late and read too many chapters of too many stories.
We will sit outside in the warm, scented darkness and whisper under the stars.
We will eat feasts of fried zucchini, fallanghina, and fresh tomatoes and basil, accompanied by prosecco with the finest, most delicate bubbles on earth.

Jonathan and I will hike in the mornings when the light is still soft for a displaced Celt like me, and dream of what will be.

I will paint my toes orange and pink, and the boys and I will wear our bathing suits under our clothes all day long until we find water, and eat watermelon until our stomachs bloat and we are sticky with juice and seeds. Then we will jump in the ocean to wash it off.

We will paint and draw and laze and dream.

We will ride the waves on boogie boards, on surf boards and just by ourselves, carried like sea gods to the shore.

We will be beautiful, golden, freckled, laughing, happy.

I am a girl of summer.