Summertime

The summer light pours through open fields, making golden paths through the bent grasses, as I wander aimlessly, with the sun setting low.

There is no hurry now, nothing left to chase, just the steady hum of the cicadas, and the sweet scent of rippling heat, a warm kiss upon the brow.

In this moment, I find peace, a starlit sky, a mirror to my soul, reflecting what’s possible in the call of each bird, each blade of grass, and laughter that flows easy as the brook.

• Jack Kerouac

• Jack Kerouac