in the air.

Here comes a weekend of family.
And cookouts.
Grass stains and sweet tea.
Sunburned shoulders and quilts on the grass.
Here comes summer.

And on Monday we'll eat and laugh,
and live life, and remember those who gave life:

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.

(snippet from "In Flanders Fields", John McRae)