A Long Late Summer's Day
Ethan CT Burwell
At the end of a long late summer’s day there’s a place in time, that if you catch it just right and just in the knick of time, it is fabulous. It’s not a place that you can see, but it’s a place that you can look to. It’s not a place that you can hear, but it’s a place that you can listen to. It’s not a place that you can touch but it’s a place that you can feel. It’s a place just before the sunset and just after the moon’s dawning. It’s a place where a pine forest can crackle and burn, raging with the fiery flames of an autumn summer sun, but no sound is heard and all is still. It’s a place where birds are in plenty, yet all is still and silent. It’s a place where a meadow stream can stand still, but still move with the force of the mountain stream from which it came. It’s a place where the nonexistent air is so thick that you don’t dare move or breathe, but there’s no gravity to hold you down. It’s a place where a still wind can carry you away long after sunset into a lightning storm of fireflies. It’s a place you should go.