Wishing it were Summer

I wish it were summer in Iowa. I wish my fingers would burn when they touch the steering wheel of my car. I wish the heat would hit me like a wall when I step outside. I wish for warm hazy evenings when the sky is purple and pink at 9 p.m. and lightning bugs blink in the fields. I miss summer smells of mown grass and grilling burgers. I miss tank tops and my hair in a permanent ponytail. I wish for hot asphalt that shimmers and mornings so bright the grass looks electric.