My Summer Vacation

It's the smell of the dust--grains of sand so small, so inconspicuously colored that only the uprising of allergies and the almost immediate clogging of the nose tell of its presence. It's the smell of the trees and their staunch resistance to the dry air. It's the smell of the heat pulsing from the ground in waves that blend with the warm wind that no more cools the sweat on the face than does the shade that retains a temperature of 105. It's the sky at dusk--the orange sherbet rays of sunset draped over the shoulders of the mountains that surround the old town in the most glorious of natural cages that they call a valley. It's the hurried scuttle of wildlife into the nearest bush as you make your way to the top of the hill. It's the tears that threaten the corners of your eyes with the realization that none of your friends can see what you see. It's the slow walk back down while watching the lights of civilization that are almost too far away. It's knowing that you've seen it all before,and each time is the first.

NOTE: Subject to editing.