Golden Waves & Summer Memories

I'm back there now,
To that place once before when
Spanish lullabies filled the
Air with guitar strums and hot rays of the summer sun.

Waves of golden wheat
Flooding us up to our waists.
A light wind both being the current
For the bronze ocean waves and being a pleasant breeze

Across our exposed skin.
Our hands barely touching
But it's just enough for us to
Not feel alone.

But it's different now.
There are waves of cold fog cascading across the
Frosted, bare field.
Capturing what remains of the winter sun
Creating the illusion of floating

Golden clouds.
The only sound now is the crunch of dead
Wheat stalks. The only thing filling the air is
The condensed shallow breaths escaping my mouth.
And there is no touch, not even the slightest.