The Smell of Summer
By Krista, age 17, Massachusetts
How its humidity weaves into my breaths,
and how I really only notice it
when I walk into my bedroom, the open windows
welcoming high C chirps as the day's soundtrack.
I've always wondered about mother nature's concoction.
Does she stew the breath of performing crickets clockwise?
Grate the friction of lilac pedals, whose roots are
savoring March snow melted deep into the ground?
I have not the slightest scrap of her recipe, but the wonder is safe and familiar.
In the morning, the weatherman's good news sends anticipation to my senses.
When the pane grudges
after a season kissed securely shut,
it steadily tick-tocks until I relax in the aroma.
I love how the first whiff of summer
comes in the first days of spring,
after the initial rainstorm,
in the cooling night of the first day to break seventy.
It's May first,
hours from being May second,
weeks from being summer.
But right now,
the smell of driving with the windows down at night
and walking barefoot across the lawn,
lowering sunglasses over my eyes to catch the shimmer of the ocean,
and the freedom of adolescent friendships
clings to my pillowcase,
and will caffeinate me
into the night.
