The Days Of Summer

The morning glories are entwined now with the hyacinth bean vine. When the purple bean pods form, they will mix right in.
They are both in a pot on the sewing machine table, and the vines are climbing between the hanging galvanized tubs.

Lots of purple shades on the patio this year. 

It is the first year that I limited myself to just a trio of colors. Purples, yellows and a white cone flower.

I lie awake at night and think of childhood summers. 

Remember that last day of school? When the bell rang, you ran out the door and down the steps straight into the promise of summer. 

Months of freedom. 

There were no vacations for us. We didn't have the money or the car to travel in.

So my travels were through the many books I brought home to read.

Which meant lots of trips across town on my old bicycle. To the little brick library nestled underneath a canopy of trees.

Summer meant Orange Crush or grape soda.

Ice came from sturdy metal ice trays back then. Remember those?

Summer meant root beer floats. A scoop or two of vanilla ice cream in a glass. The hissing sound of root beer being poured over it.

Cream-sicles. I loved those push-up Cream-sicles. How you hurried to eat it because the heat would turn it to a sticky mess that dripped down your fingers.

There was no real relief from the heat. Just open windows. 

So much of summer I witnessed through the tiny grids of window screens. 

When darkness came, I remember the sound of tree branches swaying in the wind. 

Night sounds. Frogs croaking.

Sometimes the pitter-patter of sudden rain. The scent of it reminded me of fresh new beginnings.

The distant sound of a train moving, clickity-clack, down the tracks through town. It was a mournful sound. Conjuring up visions of people saying goodbye.

After a few weeks, the days of summer seemed to slowly creep by. 

The excitement you felt on that last day of school dimmed. And you started yearning for school to open its doors once again. 

The end of summer was the smell of crayons and glue and sweaty bodies closed up in a classroom. 

Until the coppery dry leaves gathered around the bare trees and autumn brought relief from summer's heat.

Such was life in a little town in Oklahoma. With red dirt roads and bitter winds that always left a powdery dust in its wake. 

What do you remember about the lazy summer days of your childhood?

***

I drifted into a summer-nap under the hot shade of July, serenaded by a cicada lullaby, to drowsy-warm dreams of distant thunder. 

~Terri Guillemets

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