A Late Summer Scene

I stand still and silent, My eyes are closed but I can picture in my head, What I would see in this late summer scene. I can hear the young children screaming and shrieking at play, The squeaks of the playground slides, swings and see-saws, The gentile gossiping of girls, The angry football cries of boys, The gentle chuckles of old men a women trading tales. I can feel the smooth, soothing warmth of the suns last few rays, The soft blades of grass beneath my feet and between my toes, A soft summer wind runs its fingers through my hair. A smiles plays across my lips as a graceful sense of calm falls upon me. I am brought out of my trance by the sound of my phone, I answer it and hear the most angelic voice. The only way this day would be become better was if the owner of this voice was with me, As I think this a pair of hands slides around my waist and a head rests on my shoulder. I know that touch and that scent. We stand in silence for a second, a minute, an hour, Who knows? He is with me, making this day pure bliss and perfection.