Summer feels like ice cream dripping down my cone, over my fingers, sticky, thick, and cold; like cool water wrapping around my warm, sun-browned skin, a cold blanket; like warm sand between my toes on my way to my favorite spot on the beach, hot, shifting beneath my feet.
Summer tastes like too sweet lemonade in a red plastic cup, ice hitting my teeth when I drink; like barbecued burgers with cheese melted over the edges, the grease oozing; like a Coke-flavored slushy melting on my tongue and sliding, freezing, down my throat; like a s’more on a late night marshmallow stickiness, melted chocolate, graham cracker.
Summer smells like a bonfire, smoky and warm; like rain after a week-long hot spell, earthy; like fresh cut grass in the evening; like the brine on a breeze off the ocean; like jasmine, rich and sweet, exotic; like sun-warmed tomatoes fresh off the vine, musty and dusty; like coconut tanning lotion, on the beach, sweet and delicious.
Summer sounds like children laughing and screaming in yards as they play; like crickets chirping at sunset, a loud chorus hidden in the grass and brush of a backyard; like music from a car radio, blasting and happy; like fireworks on the 4th of July; like jump ropes hitting cement and children rhyming; like thunder claps and raindrops tapping the roof during a summer storm.
Summer looks like long sunny days, and warm nights, inky dark and full of distant stars, thin pinpricks in the indigo blue; like the colorful lights at fairgrounds, and games, and rides; like sunsets on the beach, all hues of pinks, oranges, blues, and purples; like forked lightning during a storm, glowing in the dark skies; like lightning bugs glowing in different spots, falling stars near the ground; like finding new places on spontaneous road trips, exploring, seeing new sights.
Summer is simultaneously too long and too short, days stretching into one another, getting lost in time; feeling like time has frozen, yet moving too fast. Summer can come too fast, yet not fast enough, the steady recklessness only found in these long days. Summer is freedom, chaos, full of happy memories, endless. Summer is finite, yet eternal, the season of youth, of careless freedom, of pure joy, of being too big, yet realizing how small we really are, of never-ending chaotic happiness. Summer is ours; summer is us; summer is anything we want it to be.
