The Dog Days of Summer

Stressing the imagery. What one might dream about in the sparkleyest and drearyest time of the year :)

Leaves struggle against the slow current of hot breezes
Trees hover over the slick surface of the lakes
Reflecting a cheery sky with lazy, billowing clouds
Their molten fluff a cheery reminder
Of these dog days of summer.
The days slur fuzzily into each other,
Pixelated droplets of time,
Leaving sticky sweet and sugary pearls of sunlight oozing across memories;
Everything trapped under a thick, yellowing glaze
Of the dog days of summer.
Sleepy days trailing into cool, weightless nights
Full of music and dancing
To the rythem of chirruping frogs
And the frantic waltz of insects
In these dog days of summer.
Blue skies of twilight and daylight
Blend through shades like the moon
Beside the clear stars, hanging constellations so precisely placed
Counting each clear, crisp, sparkling gem in the skies
Of these dog days of summer.
As our hazy, rosy memories are buried by flecks of racing snow
And the shining sunlight is replaced
By shining white beauty, each fir needle coated
With a think layer of downy ice
We can't help but remember
Those dog days of summer.

Author's Note

I was seeing how much imagery and description I could use to explain the reminiscent feeling of summer without completely hiding the meaning of the words.

Date: 1/7/11

Reviews

[OT]

haha EH's review says it all!! but I'll concur - a sure success - you ripple around the imagery so well!! painting vivid pristine pictures! very well done!! nice!

[Nothing Personal]

Yeah we need this. We need this badly at this time of the year. Feelings of summer...dog days of summer. Your description has a slow, trickly pace like summer afternoons which always feel like forever...And then all the fun, all the dance, all the mirth of Summer (not if u live in Texas, though but a certainty in Wisconsin..Great write..Enjoyed it right now..

[E.H. Monroe]

Success in f*****g spades. I was in the back of a 1957 pickup with Nina Simone playing through the hole in the window, a black warped guitar, a 5th of moonshine and my chick sleepin in the grass. All that just from this damned thing.
Those summer days die fast, Kita Kat, and the images live in the snapshots we remember

Slow roll to beauty