My closest childhood memory is of flames and fields,
I can feel myself in the countryside now,
As they blend in perfect harmony,
At the closing of summer.
The fire feasts upon the grass,
as I feast upon its heat.
Hot air pounds at my cheeks,
creating a thrilling rhythm.
The grass has joined the fire's dance,
and I leap through the hidden pathways,
that keep the fire the from burning our belongings.
The whole field is enveloped by the flame's light,
which is well above my head.
I keep weaving in between the forests of fire.
As they cage me in,
I'm delighted to be their prisoner,
and I never want the burning to stop.

But as the sun melts from the sky,
the flames sink lower and lower to the ground.
I can see them seeking refuge
from their inevitable fate.
They are almost gone,
yet I spin and smile in their shadows,
remembering the summer that I spent with the fields
that they have devoured.