Summer

A flash of gold blisters my skin, causing me to retreat to the shade of the weeping willow. Bead after bead of salt forms a darkened necklace on my grey collar, my noose of summer. The once green, now yellow, slowly dying scenery reinforces my instinct to flee inside these wooden boxes. My shoulders are kissed with buckets of rays— they pour down from above the heads of the trees. I submerge my wings up to the first hinge, the chill of the pond barely softens the burn. I grimace as the light reflects, obscuring my vision. There’s someone out there who knows how to change things. As I shake my feathers dry and prepare to flee back home, I glance to the side, seeing my distorted reflection in the ripples. Mother Nature is finally happy with the way we are reacting.