summer / seasalt / air

Winter never has been my season of color; it has always been my reason to cover, my season of waiting, for.

Spring has always been, my season of hope, my season of entry, back in.

Summer has always been my rhythm and reason, my season of budding, my growing...

Waves appearing out of nowhere suddenly licking at me in startling embrace, stripping daringly; flinging myself into the sea. Breathing in worshipful gulps of sea air as salt spray caresses the pinks of my cheeks. Like the tide, I surrender again and again, as my writing sets me alive on the shores of distant places. One day in Paris, next in Rome, next standing curbside in New York City, and finally, today, on the outlay of a beach watching a horseshoe crab battle amongst the seaweed. Awaiting the heat of, yet, another summer.

     When I have finally succumb to parts of my life once shrouded in taboo, I become imposingly bare in being able to change everything in my present, as truth stares back hard in the coarseness of sea salt touching my delicate face, the heat of summer sun washing over me.

Memories come tumbling in, and that is when, I remember, how and why I am here. Summer, will always be, for me, my reason of reckoning...my roses in bloom !