summer memory

in the late afternoon

in the summertime

she walked into his little kitchen

where the walls are painted with rusty reds, glistening sunshine, and postcards from faraway places

where a cheeky breeze plays with the stacks of loose papers on the windowsill

where wild flowers sway in a vase on the table

and a sweet tune is playing on the radio

only to find him flipping fresh pancakes

with his curls tickling the corners of his eyes

and dimples tugging on his smile

as he turned around to greet her.


…and long after the sun had gone down

down behind the gurgling river

and rolling hills

and pointy clock towers

the silhouette of summer


long into the first foggy mornings of fall.