Most of my summer so far has been spent inside,

Air-conditioned, temperature controlled-

so that when I finally get to go outside

I am struck by summer, all at once.

I take the dog out walking, in the evening,

The heat of the summer afternoon

gathered and pooled in the end of the day,

Dry, hot air

Blue July sky

High white clouds like streaks of tempura paint.

I am surrounded by sensations and smells -

The breeze comes

Off the field next door where the city workers have bulldozed a road

through the tall dry grass,

Off the hedges of blackberry bushes

and it smells of hot dirt

summer-dried grass

ripening berries;

The linden tree up the block is still blooming,

the scent reminiscent of green tea and honey

Of youth and lost love

the astringent smell of the dried blossoms crushed underfoot;

Roses, wilting in the heat from too many days of full bloom,

draped over the neighbor's picket fence;

In the graveyard the pungence of cottonwood trees

takes me back to childhood, my grandmother's log house

surrounded on three sides by cottonwood (the scent memory

completes itself independently, of dust and manure and sheep and sagebrush);

Fresh cut summer grass, hot pavement;

Summer, all at once and in itself, enfolds me

Gives itself back to my senses

Returns to me my history

of summer

of childhood

of self.