I hesitated. Saw my doubts in the cracks of the hard ground, scorched by hot summer. In between the grass. In the places where it won’t grow again. I felt it when the wind picked up my page, bristled against my bare arms with a chilly reminder. I will brush up against you. I will take away your water slide and put you back on the mountain, somewhere near the bottom where the path is overgrown.
I’m in the sun and the gentle cooling breeze. The shade grows around me. But the sun always returns.