The Sunset Theatre

This Summer's day is more beautiful than that of any I have seen.
As was the day before, and as will be the day after.
Evermore, the heart of the season grows, like the hearts of men.
Summer's kiss grazes my face.
Summer's laughter fills my soul with music.
Summer dances with Midnight, and they become friends.
I intertwine my fingers with Summer's graceful branches.
I sway to the rhythm of the meadow grass and the clover which grows beneath my feet.
Summer is a southern belle, with brilliant features and a lilting voice.
She sings me to sleep, a lullaby so sweet that even the Honeysuckle shakes away his dew just to hear her better.
The clouds swim above me, diving deep into the horizon.
They seldom come up for air.
Summer's finale act is given a go, and the whole world stops to admire the talents of the Sun.
All of a sudden I am reminded of watermelon wedges and cotton candy.
I am reminded of dandelions plucked from fields and of grandmother's whispy-haired tabby cat.
I feel at home again, though I am so far from it.
Sunset gives a grand dance, and it is enough to put the world to rest.
Summer is my theatre of escape.
Summer needs no encore.
She is an essence all her own.

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