SWEET, SWEET SUMMER
It’s really summer now. Hot days and no rain. The storms have ceased and the grass is baking, streams are slowing, cicadas buzzing and only butterflies and lizards dance through the scorching midday hours. The bright yellow maze of broom on the hillside has disappeared and been replaced by the scent of lavender growing at the foot of the hilltop chapel. The girls are covered with grazes and bruises from long days of bare legs and trips and falls. The quiet of the morning is disturbed only by the sound of bells as a herd of goats and sheep graze through the green areas and along the river banks that run through the village. Earlier this summer the poplar trees shed their cotton-like seed tufts. Swirling snow storms of soft white silk catching the sunlight, caught by the outstretched hands of children, gathered to make beds for fairies or to delight in smoothing it gently across their faces. Days flow from one to the next: Hands stained purple with elderberries cooked up