honey sun

the best times of my life were

filled with light. maybe my vision

was clearer. maybe life was

more vivid then. but I remember

it being so bright, everything

washed in light - clear and concise,

the world dipped in honey and 

saturated in sun.

chasing the dog out back behind

the house where there was a trail

that led to the dock past large maple

trees and through locks of wild

strawberries to the edge of the woods

where it was dark but still dipped in

honey. and playing in the grass beside 

the house,

looking down

at the shards of

razor that flicked upon the

waves and lapped

at the cattails and lily pads 

and green reeds from the swamp 

that surrounded the lake.

the rows of raspberry bushes

that surrounded the garden.

the coil of rhubarb that kept

growing year after year no matter

how my grandpa tried to get rid of it.

the small shed beneath the aspen trees

that were grown together where I

always imagined a tree house

one day.

the bicycle in the shed,

and the smell of freshly cut wood

coming from the garage where my 

grandpa worked.

and the dragonflies that swooped

down from the sky in droves, catching the

mosquitoes that had just hatched.

and the dog licking my face as we played

in the grass

on a spring day

when innocence 

was so 

new.