Summer
It is inevitable.
The anticipation.
The delicious certainty that something wonderful is about to happen.
I can smell it before I see it.
Summer announces itself.
It arrives on a warm breeze carrying charcoal smoke drifting from a neighbor’s grill.
Freckled cheeks. Sunburned shoulders. Cute boys. White shorts.
Bare feet toughened by sidewalks too hot to stand on.
Watermelon, buried in the cool, wet sand. Sticky juice running down our arms while opportunistic seagulls circled overhead.
A towel was all you needed.
A swimsuit.
A best friend who lived close enough to hear your whistle from across the street.
The soundtrack was the slap of flip-flops, the crash of the waves, and the distant song of the ice cream truck.
First kisses tasted of coconut oil and lemonade.
Every June, I believed this would be the summer I would grow taller, swim farther, fall in love, and become the person I had imagined all winter long.
Its arrival leaves me breathless.