Kids on the back porch shucking corn.
The crisp checkered tablecloth rambunctiously adorned.
Gallons of iced-tea, baked beans, grilled meat
dripping in sauce, popsicles, assortment of half-melted treats.
Babies being bounced from hip to hip.
July performs another perfectly orchestrated picnic.
Kaleidoscope colors of red, white and brilliant royal
Blues playing on the radio. Fireflies flicker.
“It’s almost time for dinner.”
Glasses raised high under the sweltering sun— a toast
to timeless traditions cherished from coast to coast.
Barrage of shutter-clicks release.
Miles and miles of cuffed torn jeans.
American flags unfurled and fireworks blaze
across the sky shimmering fluorescent rays.
Boom, bang, sparkle, crash
Ooooh, awe, linger unabashed.
Kiddos crazed with adrenaline and dreams
Twirling wildly with sparklers
hearts bursting at the seams.
Swept up I tumble into the whirl
skirts fluttery flying–
I love dancing with little girls.
The scent of honeysuckle and gunpowder is heavy in the air.
Tchaikovsky’s 1812 throbs—throbs—throbs everywhere…
-Amber (2013)
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