Indian Summer

Give me my Indian Summer, where the air is thick with heat that smothers everything else. It's full of warmth, the hot sun on tanned arms covered in freckles. It's a time to forget everything you have been remembering. A time when there's nothing but the heat, the heat, sweat pours off your brow. The time in late summer when you've all but forgotten school for the sweet smell of freshly mowed grass, summer air rolling in your open window, flooding the rolled down windows of your car like a hurricane, stirring up your hair and practically drowning out the radio. A time to forget, to get lost and stay there for a while. You lose track of time during those days of brutal heat, what day it is even anymore. Sometimes I just like to forget and reminisce, let the nostalgia set in, hard. Because your best memories of those Indian Summers date back to 1996, 1997, 1998, 1999. Indian coins in the ground, the hobbit trail, the tall fence, the deep end, the diving board, the witch's cauldron, Jurassic Park, Robin Hood, the basement, treasure maps, the cul-de-sac. Your life ended, yet another one has extinguished; so much loss in so short a time. I want my Indian Summer now.