A wisp of wind pushed cottony, sun-brightened tendrils across your ruddy cheeks,

and a soft, golden light makes you glow

like a firefly

calling for a friend in the sticky coolness of the night

Summertime is written in the way your thick soled shoes trip

and scuffle with the too tall grass

as it tries with all its might to swallow you up in a swaying sea of emerald.

Laughter bubbles up and tumbles over lips

recently split by heat, and new white teeth, and the happiness

in your eyes makes them twinkle in a way that puts the brightest 

stars to shame.

Summertime is written in the way your loving peck on the cheek

leaves behind a syrupy sweet rainbow,

one that matches the one making its way

down

your

chin

at the

most 

leisurely

of paces,

and the ones staining your small fingers and palms.

Elephant-heavy lids droop to filter the splattered light of the fading sun.

A thin sheen of the day's play lingers on your face,

nearly slack with sleep.

Summertime is written in the strands of hair now plastered to your forehead,

and it harmonizes with the crickets as they welcome the solid navy that replaces

the pulled cotton ball clouds and the hot blue of the day,

and it dances with the stars as they poke through the thick blanket of the night,

and it sighs with you as you finally,

finally, 

drift off to sleep.