OverTheRainbow

summer awakens that joy in me

not the kind

people attempt to attribute to poetry

(go read some poems,

idiots,

go find out that poets

aren't always joyful,

go discover that sadness

Today was the first time I've gone biking in the morning — the proper morning, when the sun is light on your shoulders and the neighborhood is waking up, bursting with birdsong and the not-so-harmonious orchestra of barking dogs — and it was wonde

Write a short story or poem about a time traveler or time travelers. Where and when are they going? Where and when are they coming from? What are they going to do when they get there?

Summer is not my favorite season,

summer is not really my jam,

but as June, July, and August

approach in their usual pack,

I find myself longing for the winding days,

the heat that slowly drives us all crazy,

In January,

when the thrill of the holidays has not yet faded

and the snow still enchants with its glittering smile,

she flops into snowbanks and skids on her knees on the ice

of her backyard pond,