The smell of a past storm in the distance,
leaving a trail of soaked sidewalks, littered with wiggling worms.
Afternoon sun, radiationg its golden light upon helicopter seeds
and squat dandilions.
Sticky nights, forbidding heavy clothing, in fear of weighing down tired limbs.
Mornings on the lake,
and evenings riding the river.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem