The sound of the paddle boat as I try
to get across the pale green backwaters of the Lake.
Motor boats come around our channel, rarely,
but when they do it is oh no,
my cousins and I paddling as if our lives depend on it, 
even if they don’t. 

Rock and Roll music 
blaring out of the speakers everywhere,
on the boat, 
at the fire,
in the cabin.
Everywhere. 

The green, red, white and blue 
lights of surrounding pontoons as my family and I float
in the middle of the open water, 
just waiting for fireworks, on Fourth of July.
Boom, boom, boom,
I would, casually, 
cover my ears as the brilliant explosions go off in the 
sky.
The fire crackles, warm, 
in the sixty five degree evening. 
I sit, wrapped in a towel, as big as a blanket, 
while I listen to funny stories, 
stories my uncles probably shouldn’t tell me, 
but do anyways. 
My dad builds an excellent fire. 
Perfect for roasting s’mores.
My favorite.

When my family gets together, it’s loud,
and I mean space shuttle launch loud. 
My uncles are loud, my mother is loud, 
my grandpa is loud,
but in the summer, I believe that loud is good.
Hearing people talk and interact,
frogs croaking under the dock, 
fish jumping out of the water, 
all of the noises make things feel so light and happy. 
That’s all I’ve ever looked for, all I’m looking for.
To hear the happiness, 
see the happiness of my loved ones
surrounding me.
During the summer,
the summer which I miss oh so much.