Summers have been weirdly annoying to me.
It’s more than just annoyingness, but less than hatred. Or it’s probably fear.
It would be so sweltering no one is out there.
And not much to happen for the lifeless dog days.
Every day is the same.
Two people can sit there forever.
And no one would know what they are talking about.
No one would sit on a divided, butt-burning swing.
I think birds also find the ground too hot.
Bees, dragonflies, mosquitoes - I see them flying past so slowly. Even slower than I grow.
I’m feeling a little drowsy.
That makes the two of us.
I want to describe my summer to you.
It has long days, and I usually get sleepy when it’s bright.
But sleeping is supposed to be a nighttime thing.
Nan tells me many stories about summer.
Nan said I would grow up after hearing all the stories.
I once heard the story about two people on the beach,
whispering that they liked catching seahorses.
Or the story about a flock of starlings
scrutinise the ground for worms to feed.
Now there are very few left.
I also saw a man sitting on the farmland. And I could hear his breathing.
In and out.
It was the all the same - before or after the sleep.
That’s what I thought.