My summers = concrete.
The concrete is hot beneath my feet. Its heated up my sandals and now warms my soles. I cannot put the hot blue plastic sandals on yet, they need to cool in the shade. I look over the blue water, clear actually, the painted aluminum is what makes it blue. It makes a hollow noise as one child bangs on the gutter. The lifeguard that was dozing off in the chair tells them to quiet down.
The concrete clicks on contact with the worn heel. A smell of barbecue drifts by. Cars- one, two- slowly pass down the one way street. I keep moving, head straight on, eyes forward, not connecting with the people done with their shifts, streaming out in pairs or by themselves. The signs in front of the open garage door flash “caution” but no vehicles move in or out.
This work by Sarah Holmes is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.