In a tiny nutty shell

Summertime leaves its marks through sunburns, blond streaks, excess freckles, and tan lines. Some lines are like battle scars marking who you were before the summer and what you turned into. Others date your age with a vindictive truth that only several months of cloudy days can obscure. Time stops in the sweltering heat but my watch keeps ticking. It reminds me to do too many things that my lazy limbs refuse. A white band slithers around my wrist like a snake with a freshly eaten mouse inside. I slip my watch off and hide it inside my wool socks.