These are summer’s small ones. Little boys, a lake, a sun, a length of blond hair, red hair, freckles and frogs. Brothers, little and younger, play in tiny waves too small to thunder toward the sandy shore.
And wind wandering through the pines that grow in rows along those rocky places where shadow, fern and grasses cling and mingle with swimming life, aquatic things, rainbow-colored trout and fish brothers hoping to catch…
These are rafting days, orange and yellow circles filled with air and ridden noisily across a quiet bay.
These are singing days when shouts and shrieks and whistles call across the harbor where wood-hulled ships rest, as their bell claps set to sound by the rocking of a wave and the setting of their sails. Snake twins, those boys, those brothers made of blood and the eternal bonds of water and of blood.
Water children held above the line by the knowledge buoyant unafraid and free, defeating for the playtime, gravity and restrictions of a drier Earth.
Then sunshine turns westward and slips beneath the sky. Nymphs forgotten, paradise found and summer’s little ones.
Little beneath the scheme of earth and large beneath the stars. So bright! Those stars, filling the lake with silent sparkles, dancing gems and laughing diamonds… Tiny brothers sleep fast and safe within their dreams. Father listens to their brief and passing sounds of laughter.
And! Beautiful you are…