Last July, as I visited my friend at her Sinclair lake home, I went with the ultimate goal of scattering some of my dad’s ashes there. The day rolled from coffee on the screened-in porch, to wakeboarding behind her boat, to jumping from a train trestle into the lake. It was a hot day that simmered slowly into the most magnificent sunset I’ve seen. It was a serene moment in my life, and I knew then that my Dad would have loved to see it, too. So, I left a little of him there to savor it, as I did. That sunset and the day that led up to it was my idea of summer perfection and it is the inspiration of the poem that follows. It’s an amalgamation of all my Georgia childhood summers and this particularly beautiful day. I was amazed that the photo I took captured the colors so beautifully (no filter!). When I look at this photo, my makeup-artist-eye also thinks of ways to recreate those pinks, purples, corals, and gold on the canvas of a face.
Magnificent sunset over glass-smooth country lake.
Crickets chirping their symphony, all day and all night.
Sleeping in until a screen door slams at 8 am.
Wet bathing suits dry quickly between swims.
Popsicles and Push-Ups melt onto the hand that holds them.
Sizzling country blacktop roads sound like heat.
A steamy mirage hovers above that road.
Ice cold drinks swiped across hot foreheads.
Running through sprinklers.
Diving into the deep end.
The warm hug of Sinclair in July.
Barefoot running across a hot surface on the outsides of your feet, heels, or tippy-toes.
Because shoes are always optional.
The smoky smell of a charcoal grill as it’s lit.
Hotdogs, hamburgers, potato salad, watermelon.
And all the while . . .
Those crickets . . .
Are the Sonos to these long days.
Right up to that waning sunlight at dusk.
Because the sun is supposed to set at 8:40 pm.