There is a kind of loneliness about a summer day
A 22-year-old cannot explain.

There are no longer childhood visitors stopping in for a few minutes,
Only bored family members dropping by for tea.

There is something about looking at walls that restrict the mind.
They keep the thoughts from flowing.

A gray husky air lingers,
And stops short of air.

Plain windows, often hidden by curtains reveal limited sunshine.
The sun stays hidden from view.

The wind barely interrupts the daily tasks;
Cooking, cleaning, laundry, gardening.

There are days when the routine goes to rest,
To fish out ailing neighbors, family members and community people.

There are those days, forshadowed by heat-consuming cooking,
Pushing around a broom and pausing for short breaths.

When visiting a person frees ones mind from the cloudy hazy summerness
That begins with a season meant for the outdoors.

A season which leaves the insiders,
As outsiders; ignored and restless.