That's right. I did it. I ate summer; every glorious calorie, every drip that didn't successfully slide from my chinny chin chin and down to my shirt. I smacked my lips and enjoyed every delicious cold and creamy bite.
With each lick, the taste of Florida sumertime emerged, and traffic and deadlines and Dreaded Responsibilities faded into a billowy haze.
In my mind's eye, where forever summertime resides, I am running in the sprinkler in the front yard, in my bright orange bathing suit with the sagging yellow flower with petals that flap in time to my skip-hopping. Oh sure, I look mild-mannered, but I'm a super heroine, and I drink anti-kryptonite from the magic garden hose of superpowers, when the kool aid popsicles aren't yet frozen, and save lizards and roly polys from certain death.
Or, we neighborhood kids play in the grassy field across the street, maybe soccer or kickball or Mother May I-- or Red Light-Green Light if somebody's kid sister is too young to understand the complicated rules of team sports and insisted on tagging along that day. (Harrumph!)
Real lemonade. The smell of fresh mowed grass. The anticipation of hearing the tin-canned music heralding the coming of the ice cream truck. Sticky fingers and dirt, and misquito bites and brightly colored food dyed-tongues.
Red, white and ol' blue snapping high above, furling and unfurling, in the barely-there breeze. Will it rain before the fireworks? Watermelon and cherries pits spit in the bowl. Sparklers.
Beach days and sand in toes. Gulls calling and the smell of tanning lotion and salt. Warm sun, cool water. Waves and castles and summertime songs.
Are you with me?
And now, now that we're "grown up" there's this to look forward to:
It is the prime time for the good things in life, and living with reckless abandon.