Tuesday, January 27, 2015
Come summer, I will eat popsicles daily, feel the ice slide down my throat and open my mouth to breathe heavily when it does. Come summer, I will pack snacks and children and dog and boots and flee to the creek at Pilot Mountain where it's ten degrees cooler. Come summer, I will sit on my swing bench at dusk and watch tiny bats aloft overhead, thrilling that they eat mosquitos. Come summer, I will rouse children with the call, "Wake up, sleepyheads, it's noon," then let them sleep another half hour. Come summer, come summer.