Summertime

Summertime is a time when it rains. When dark factory buildings stand huddled together under an umbrella of their smoke. When drunken college kids pull up their collars in search of the next big place. When florescent lights sway on their wires over the soaked and sterile streets. When Janice Joplin dances within the earphones. When her voice rattles and screams like a tortured electric guitar. No wonder her and Hendrix were around the same time. No wonder they both went so early. Sensitive souls do that. They scream with the rage of their time and expire. They are in tune to the winds and rains that fall to their sides. This world was not for them. This world is not for us.

Summertime is a time when the living’s easy. When the fish are jumping. When your daddy’s rich and you mom is good looking. Summertime is when you hush, little baby, and you don’t – don’t you cry.

Summertime is a time when it rains. When the sky weeps over the rooftops and washes our cheeks with its salt. Summertime is a time when you yearn to rise up singing. To spread your wings. To take to the sky.

As Janice sang, “Until that morning, nothing’s gonna harm you baby.”

It is when we finally sing that this world no longer becomes our stage. We simply outgrow it. We shake off its salt and rise to the sky. The curtain opens then. Its shadow no longer protects us.

Summertime is a time for Janice. Summertime is a time to sing.
The mornings start early then.