Day 2: Write about nostalgia and innocence
You can always tell how hot it is outside by how loud the cicadas sing. It’s nature's own warning alarm, letting you know to put on extra sunscreen and to avoid walking on the driveway barefoot. Days like this call for crunchy chlorine hair, sticky coloured cheeks and the chance to add more scabs and bruises to the ever growing collection on your legs.
Cold, clear water feels like liquid gold against a sun kissed body. Below the water's surface is another world that only few are able to reach. We have our own lives here; ones that are completely in our own control, where nobody can tell us who we are and what we should do. Nobody else can see the tails that grow where our legs should be.
Your wet hair will dry quickly in the warm breeze. The rustling tree branches might call your name, inviting you to perch yourself within their sturdy arms. We’re giants, now, 10 feet tall and as strong as the hardwood supporting us. This is what birds must feel like all the time. If only we could fly as well.
The hot sticky air does have its drowsy side effects, of course. Before you even realize that you’ve slowed down, you might already find yourself melting like a popsicle into the ground, watching the green leaves dance through the bright blue air above you. There’s a state of existence you reach when laying under these trees where the tickle of grass on your back and the warm breeze on your torso become one. You’re floating, now. Drifting up through the leaves, above the roofs and treetops, joining the birds in the clouds and watching the little people marching like ants below.
When you come back down to earth, you might find yourself already in your bed, tucked beneath the same warm, fresh sheets that were hanging on the clothesline all day. There's no time to question how you got there. It's time to go to sleep now. There's a busy day of more summertime adventures and cicada songs ahead of you.
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