When the Summer Comes (Cabin Fever)

I miss the beach.
the sand, the waves,
the over producing, pooping gulls who spray white-out all over the hot black tar.
Pollock paintings,
from above.
Splattered to canvas,
resting in the nooks and crannies of the ground below.
Skyline visionaries,
caress and carry the wind.
I miss the smell of over oiled humans broiling in the sun.
The blisters the sun provides when left into long.
I like mine rare,
red bleeding
or pale skin.
Not bronze plated,
tan is overrated.
I miss summer drinks,
and longer days.
Late evening barbeques,
being warm enough,
to go without a coat.
Early morning sunrises,
running through the progression.
Dark when starting,
Light when finishing.
To see the sun,
peek over the horizon,
eye level,
revealing the fields of corn.
The new day is born
and I was there during delivery.
I witnessed the coming
now I will follow it along.