Daring Dragonfly #2
Memories of Summer
That lilting, catchy, wordless tune. Running to dad and asking for money, then tearing down the block with the other kids chasing the white truck. Holding up a tiny fist full of quarters and pulling back a fudgecicle. Laughing and smiling and ruining my appetite, just like mom always said I would. And the smiling face of the tall man in the white uniform leaning out to make a young boy’s dreams come true - these are the memories of summer.
Warmer weather and shorter hemlines. Less clothing on the girls I went to school with. The last days of the semester, when the girls would lay out in the quad, or by the dorms in their bikinis working on their tans. Halter tops. Short skirts. Flip flops – these are the memories of summer.
Trips to the beach with family, spending way too much money on fireworks. Hunting for the perfect log to build a beach bonfire on, setting up camp around noon when the town’s fireworks display was set for 9:30. Watching people set off flares in the dark, and dodging fireworks that tilted on their side after being lit, diving for cover and hoping no one got hurt – these are the memories of summer.
The smell of lighter fluid. Watching the little briquettes turn from deep black to white and grey. The dark black lines of the grill on the meat. Corn on the cob. Hamburgers. Hot dogs. Chicken. Ribs. Bright red barbeque sauce that tastes of honey and spice – these are the memories of summer.
That lilting, catchy, wordless tune. Running to dad and asking for money, then tearing down the block with the other kids chasing the white truck. Holding up a tiny fist full of quarters and pulling back a fudgecicle. Laughing and smiling and ruining my appetite, just like mom always said I would. And the smiling face of the tall man in the white uniform leaning out to make a young boy’s dreams come true - these are the memories of summer.
Warmer weather and shorter hemlines. Less clothing on the girls I went to school with. The last days of the semester, when the girls would lay out in the quad, or by the dorms in their bikinis working on their tans. Halter tops. Short skirts. Flip flops – these are the memories of summer.
Trips to the beach with family, spending way too much money on fireworks. Hunting for the perfect log to build a beach bonfire on, setting up camp around noon when the town’s fireworks display was set for 9:30. Watching people set off flares in the dark, and dodging fireworks that tilted on their side after being lit, diving for cover and hoping no one got hurt – these are the memories of summer.
The smell of lighter fluid. Watching the little briquettes turn from deep black to white and grey. The dark black lines of the grill on the meat. Corn on the cob. Hamburgers. Hot dogs. Chicken. Ribs. Bright red barbeque sauce that tastes of honey and spice – these are the memories of summer.
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