Even I go outside sometimes. Not for long—let's not get carried away—but I do. It's too easy to forget how good it feels to walk around in late morning, that cool warming of your skin when the air is still chilled but the sun swats it's heated rays at you through breaks in the trees. It's a small window of perfection that washes over you, gently, like lazy waves that wanted more to rock you to sleep rather than knock you over into the sand; a small window that should grow slowly larger, longer as the fall season comes closer and closer, and the sweltering, humid summer gives up its grasp on us despite it best intentions to protect us from the oncoming winter for as long as possible, not understanding, as weather rarely does, that it's Indian giving of sweet summer warmth is what bears the harshest winters down upon us. Perhaps during the first true snowfall, when we still love winter, and the snow is still white and easy to shovel, I'll go for a walk, and maybe find this tree again, and remember the flirting, playful warmth of the cooling, calming summer day. Remind me, and I'll remember for us both. —sb // / / / / / / / / #poetry #poem #poet #instapoet #poetsofig #poetsofinstagram #poetrycommunity #poetscommunity #writers #writersofinstagram #writersofig #buffalopoet #buffalopoets #buffalopoetry #shortstory #writers #writersofinstagram #writersofig #buffalowriter #buffalowriters #simmsbauer (at Buffalo, New York)