Those were the days when we soaked our feet in salt to refresh our spirits and clear our minds. Our little brains were tired of a talk and thought of what we humans really are. We were drinking sweet lemonade out of the finest crystal we had. With picking the fresh mint that brought a flavor of innocence in our pretty ways, at least one our hand used to be painted brown. At times we were feeling frisky and young, we would add a something stronger to spice up the evenings of our moment in time.
We climbed all the trees we saw in hope to be closer to the sky above. Or maybe we were catching with teacups in our hands that vividness of life. Alas, from the day we sensed the first ray of light on our naked skin, the secret things were hiding out there, never ready to unveil the beauty that runs in front of our eyes. Maybe if we could see everything hidden, life would be just a veil of blues that predictably hugs us from time to time.
We watched the little flying creatures and their freedom flights. That gave us idea that only little butterflies are able to talk language that beauty knows. They whispered to flower every time you showed your bright smile. And with summer sun that is about to vanish like a stain of the grass from our jeans, they will stop carrying secrets around. You realize that some things happen just to become the blank page in a diary of life.
When you see that august slowly packs its suitcase of joy, you know he is a good fellow with very kind heart. Secret creatures from the wood that surround us, told me that once. In a dresses that petals coloured and with lace inserts that only fairies know to make, they will be your friend and whisper you sweet words of comfort at the end of the summer day. So, you don’t need to be surprised with all the sudden light. Their dresses shine bright and their faces glow like a rose after a rainy day. Did you know that on the farewell of summer, you could see them if you want. When the fog comes, if you follow the little steps in the grass, you will see they are wearing lace gloves. They braid tenderly your horses’ manes during the nights. With the last of their rhyme, once again they will wash away memories of blues and bring a smile for the new pretty times. Is there anything to do, then to close the chapter of your velvet book, till the next sunny dawn comes.