Summer sits. It sits with its head in its hands deciding what to do with this lightning that never seems to end.
Curious, the pregnant clouds also sit. They’re at the same small table, drinking shit beer and smoking – nature is getting half-lit.
“Aren’t these bugs just stupid? I wish they didn’t bite as much but scratching your skin riddled with bumps is just part of summer.”
“You can’t be mad at it. Well, you could, but your bitching just seems wasted – go make lemonade. Or cut up watermelon, that’s something better. Grab a towel while you’re at it, I want to go for a swim.”
The Clouds are up from the table, obeying Summer’s whims. Getting their picnic prepared. Everything is ready now, skinny dipping in all this heat, the water feels just right. It’s a nod to their childhood.
“Jump in without caring! God-damn it! I stepped on a bee!”
“That’s what you get for running through the clover barefoot, Summer.” The Clouds chuckled, getting back to their backstroke, smelling like coconut suntan oil.
“You’ve always been too lazy, you never learn. Remember last year when you got stung running through the water blowing out from the garden hose?”
“But it was coming out so cold!” Summer never gave a shit about the flip flop recommendation – too busy laughing, hopping on one foot, throwing out lightning.
The Clouds, they can’t be bothered, floating around, eyes squinting, pruned up fingers pull the swimsuit from their cheeks while they towel off, wringing rain from their soggy waving hair.
“For the last time, put some got dang shoes on your feet, we’re leaving.” Summer relents like a toddler, the last hurrah before packing up – summer is finally over.