Summerhead

I sit alone in my backyard as the sun burns through my black bandeau and Alien Sex Fiend hat.

I read The Well of Loneliness until I pause to look at my surroundings. 

The strawberry plants sway in the breeze, hummingbirds drink from feeders, 

white and orange butterflies rapidly fly around me, mourning doves call in my neighbor’s tree, 

and tiny insects crawl in the grass. 

All of my problems vanish here. 

I am young and joyous and invigorated on a hot summer day.

I am alive.