Mist

I sensed the summer-time fog rolling in. The crickets chirped a peculiar song. It seemed as if it were sung for me, tones cheery, the wind crisp, the smells of the bonfires taking my nose into peace.

Sunset took its time. That burnt-orange slowly took hold, overlapping the cyan sky, the clouds are now wisps—jutting in tall formations, flying away. The spirits are dancing among the tapestry.

the Sun took me in. Embraced me. The warmth is fading, but I can still understand its presence. It is Love. All-encompassing. The glow of light from this stellar being brings me to comfort. Childhood almost. I was raised under the summer Sun.

Laughter. Cookouts. The cackle of an uncle, and auntie, a mother, a father, a brother. The mosquito bite I forgot to douse in alcohol. The grass humming. Cool air sweeps in, cigarette embers carried into the wind. A game of Spades hollered into the evening.

I remember the misty rain that fell earlier to give way to such a time. The fog that broke. I remember that laughter. That family reunion. That get-together. Frankie Beverly played into the night. We danced, didn’t we? We had a time last night.

the mist gave way.