Memories of earlier days running through the grass watching the hoppers flee
Your trundling steps. When did they all go missing in the southern summer sun?
The ants working hidden in the fields, the tall grass as their hunting
Grounds. Biting, stinging, and killing in the southern summer sun.
Their hills of red clay stand out against the browning green of the grass warning
Like a stop sign the dangers out hiding in the southern summer sun.
Their smell slightly spicy as they make their way up your shoe and into
Your socks. As you were caught unsuspecting in the southern summer sun.
The prick around your ankle could have been a burr. But another up your leg and
Then the burning and itching. Again, you are running in the southern summer sun.
therichardbraxton 