[untitled on a summer day]

lying flat on my back
in the prickly, hot grass
...it hasn't rained for days
the air is thick and stagnant
and the sun has to cut it's way
sharply through to where i lay.
shading my eyes with the back of a hand
blinking hard against its attempts to blind me.

but suddenly a whisper is heard in the distance
it moves in the trees
weaving teasingly through their branches
the grass bends in its wake
until finally it finds me
stopping to whisper gently in my ear
running its cool, wispy fingers through my hair

peeking through my fingers and the leaves of the trees above
i catch a glimpse of the clear crystal blue sky
wisps of clouds drift lazily by...
the birds are singing
and so am i