It's the slow burning sunsets and those dog-days of summer, almost painfully loud with the romance of the cicadas, bright with the twinkling dance of the fireflies.
Or maybe it was spring, when the trees burst into great green flowering masses, the fields began whispering, and the flowers all took their turns displaying vibrant colours. Pink, red, orange, yellow, purple.
I stand on the shore of our very own lake and let the breeze chill me. Sunny days it's a peaceful blue lake, begging to be felt. Cloudy days it's a rough and green like the sea.
The sounds drown out my screams. The colours are forgiveness. The heat, no matter how much I hate it, it melts everything, everything away. Rain is the pause between each scene. Hot rain, cold rain, loud rain, stormy rain, peaceful rain.
The sunflowers will come and then the colours and the sounds fade. It's the quietness, and the unforgiving bitter cold and brown of Kansas that reminds me what a horrible place it is.
I'll love winter again when I escape this hellhole of destitution.
