“You’re it!”
We were off,
kicking our feet
so fast, blades of grass
couldn’t catch our calves.
“You’re it!”
The summer sun was a bummer,
waiting under the storic sun
and his lightning buddies.
We tucked under
the pines or ran inside,
whichever would keep us dry.
The evening couldn’t come
soon enough.
You would call my bluff
and catch me before the
hounds came around.
We were it.
We were the unstoppable
twilight nomads.
We stalked and we preyed
for softer rolling hills to play.
We savored our skills,
safe beneath the shade
of the oak tree.
We were it.
We weren’t afraid of the night
chasing our shadows home.
We had lightning bugs,
and our rising moon.
We told the future.
We made up stories.
We snuck out,
leaving behind our worries.
We were abiding the rules,
while breaking them on a dime.
“You’re it!”
We were on an unstoppable manhunt.
We spent time as if time was ours to spend.
We were so brazen with our belief in it.
Time was ours.
Summer promised he’d bless us with eternal light but expelled, letting the seasons shift.
We ran and we shouted and
claimed victory over less
popularized parts of town. We held onto our days while ditching the hours. We knew each blade of grass, each fragmented shard of glass. Our forgotten field held refuge for our imaginations.
The grass grew so unkept,
it tucked it’s heavy mane
over the sidewalks’ dividing line.
“You’re it!”
We shouted and scrambled
behind turning bushes
and up trees so high.
Twilight clung on,
until his master felt impatient.
We shouted and whispered
not being found
until we wanted to be.
We ran and ran
and hid
and played until the moon summoned our sleepy bodies home. There was always tomorrow to play when you’re a child in Summer’s embrace.
Dawning Creations 
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