summer’s come

I walk by a gossamer thread floating in the air. I don’t know whether it’s the work of a spider, but it’s thick, and we call it butterfly silk.

I see a small white butterfly hover over the road side flowers. It’s as if a primrose itself detached and began to fly.

The air, hot and heavy, is laden with the sweet smell of irises in neighbors’ beds, and the acrid smell of burning.

I eat a warm strawberry fresh from the garden.

Summer is soon to come.

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What brings it for you?

ottermei

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