Warm

In summer, we sweat together, we fan each others’ faces with folded paper, we splash in pools and lakes. The warmth, the heat, it comes from outside, does not begin within. We did not create the heat, the sweat and passion; we react to the sun, we burn in the light. Warmth and heavy breath comes, natural, with the month of June. And by September, infused with summer’s heat we have forgotten our own. And the wind starts to shiver the leaves from the trees, and the clouds freeze rain into snowflakes. The heat we felt together in summer’s ambrosia-sun is frozen, is cold, is wet. I find myself in the opposite of June, feet vulnerable in boots, fingers tucked into gloves, and I have learned to keep myself warm.