I can remember the summers of our childhood,

The ones where we would go and play outside

In the hot Arkansas sun.

 

We would seek shelter

From the sun's scorching rays.

We would retreat each day to one solitary place.

Where practically we spent our entire summer

The honeysuckle bush

 

A giant hedge of green, sprinkled with white and gold flowers

Whose nectar was ripe for the tasting.

When suckles would bloom, we would pick the bush dry,

Leaving none left to be tasted tomorrow.

 

Inside the bush was a cool respite,

Tucked away, hidden from the sun's watchful eye.

Which was always looking out for playful children,

Prepared to bare down its dreadful heat upon them.

 

But it could never find us.

Not in our honeysuckle bush.

It was our fortress, and the sun was our aggressor.

Trying to break through our leafy walls.

Which it succeeded.

Through the gaps in the leaves

the suns midday light would come shining through,

Littering the space with beautiful bright spots.

But with it, the heat would not follow.

It was cool inside the honeysuckle bush.