Sunny summer days of my yesteryears lumbered and lulled. Hours hung heavy in the humid air.
To occupy those drawn-out dog days, I dangled my tiny toes in trickling streams, carved crooked creatures in cracking mud, climbed creaking limbs of ancient oaks, and imagined dragons cavorting in cotton ball clouds.
Puff, the magic dragon lived by the sea
And frolicked in the autumn mist in a land called Honahlee.