it was the summer when i was a child. this was one of the many midwest cities that did swim in the humid laps of mid-century heat.
these were nights we would sleep on the porch. we did tell our stories, the adults first then the children. some said jokes or sang or laughed. we recalled the coppery themes from the far ago. there was my grandmother and my aunt. there was my brother, my sister, and a few cousins. and there was my mother, the terrestrial boundary that did bind us, that cemented us.
so, so soon, so did our voices soften as our eyes fluttered. nearly distant from us were the temporal sounds and sensations we knew of: trucks, buses, passenger cars, and the pleads of emergency vehicles .. and the ripple of trees, the clatter of waiting buildings, the purring of books in the libraries.
it had been the blue evening. and when we finally drifted to sleep, we experienced a splendor that was within and was without. an inarticulate wind did rise. it had been the big blue evening. then at that time, the crescendo songs of crickets of insects deeply descended.