The Summer is Gone

Where has the summer gone?  I want to see the leaves, and the grass, and the pile of rocks that we had set to be the marker between the river and our house.  The scrub grass is gone, although I didn't like stepping through it.  Now, I wish that I could run through it and reminisce.

The dogs that barked when we went to school would make us run by.  Now, the dogs, their fence, their house, and their whole block is gone. The trees that lined our playground; the sturdy trees that we could not wrap our arms around, are gone as well.  The elderly people that would always sit on that porch and talk as we came back from school are also gone.

How I wish that I could walk by once more and hear them again, but there is a mall there now, and the sound of conversation was replaced by the sounds of traffic, and fighting, and sirens.  Even the clean air is gone; replaced by the smell of gasoline, dirty oil, and billowing black smoke from tall smokestacks.

Now, it is cold and wet.  Now there is steel and glass and greed in every direction.

I miss the summer.