Jul 13
Fear Not in Midsummer
On a spinning wobbly world I find myself midsummer* and furthest away from my old mountain friends and the soft veil of wondrous snow. How I dream and miss thee most burns, boils inside a hellish dome, shifts the center of my Gravity in a controlled surrender daily onto my long walk back to you. Will there be yet another? Can all this longing alone or a hand I wonder from beloved produce the most joyous winter ever when this journey, year and heat end? 🧿
*Previously, William Shakespeare almost compared thee to such a midsummer's day. He knew not to.
