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There's so many Jesus bugs here!
Says the girl with rainbow popscicle coloured hair
Jesus bugs. Little crosses skittering across the water
But for the hair, these kids could be 35 years ago
Adult free, free-wheeling on bicycles
All cut offs and flipflops
Older girls big sistering bare-chested little boys
Wading in the river picking blackberries into empty slushy cups as the day slips away
And I'm thinking of my childhood summers
Adventures to the candy store
Hanging out at Innvergary park, swinging out into the pond
And I'm thinking of days before fingertip entertainment
Of neighbourhood kickball, truth or dare in the back yard, building forts
Hanging at Hummingbird Park as the single lamplight flickers on
And night settling on my skin
As I fill my bucket I wonder
Do the berries have to be directly in the sun?
Or does sun on some sweeten all?
And I'm thinking about the absurdity of one perfect blackberry
God doesn't make imperfect blackberries or imperfect summer days
It's when we pick them
The summer kids drift toward their bikes, grabbing sweaters as they swing away
I lean into the vines, reaching, as Jesus bugs drift around my legs
Just a few more before heading home
August 1, 2015
Says the girl with rainbow popscicle coloured hair
Jesus bugs. Little crosses skittering across the water
But for the hair, these kids could be 35 years ago
Adult free, free-wheeling on bicycles
All cut offs and flipflops
Older girls big sistering bare-chested little boys
Wading in the river picking blackberries into empty slushy cups as the day slips away
And I'm thinking of my childhood summers
Adventures to the candy store
Hanging out at Innvergary park, swinging out into the pond
And I'm thinking of days before fingertip entertainment
Of neighbourhood kickball, truth or dare in the back yard, building forts
Hanging at Hummingbird Park as the single lamplight flickers on
And night settling on my skin
As I fill my bucket I wonder
Do the berries have to be directly in the sun?
Or does sun on some sweeten all?
And I'm thinking about the absurdity of one perfect blackberry
God doesn't make imperfect blackberries or imperfect summer days
It's when we pick them
The summer kids drift toward their bikes, grabbing sweaters as they swing away
I lean into the vines, reaching, as Jesus bugs drift around my legs
Just a few more before heading home
August 1, 2015
