by johannespunkt

It was the first summer I can remember and everything was good, it was so warm that individual straws of hay would float in the air, out of boredom or exasperation, and when you touched them they would fall to the ground like they had done nothing wrong and you’d get a static shock. It was the first summer in existence, the summer that would define all other summers, and if you look close at a haystraw you’ll see all its lines, where its last few drops of water ran when it was still grass, you’ll see how it died.