This rotating celebration of words and the magic they make was begun to encourage creative writing. Each week a selection of prompts are posted, which can be words, phrases, music or an image. What is created with those prompts is up to the writer and imagination: a short story, prose, a song, a poem, or whatever they make the writer think of. Some creative minds put their creations in comments on the post, and others post on their own blog. If you enjoy reading their words, please comment to encourage. This month Vest will be providing the prompts. [All of the prompt words are in bold italics.] (Side note: I've been having issues with my laptop and missed participating in the last Wednesday of June. I think I picked up a bug, and am hoping to have it all straightened out soon. Rather than trying to go back and make my brain work overtime, I'm picking up again with July).
"I think we all face summer with a mixture of sadness."
Her comment was completely unexpected and for a moment I wasn't even sure if she was talking to me. I'd never seen her before, and without even hearing her footsteps, she was suddenly standing beside me.
"How do you mean?" I asked.
"Well, for some it can be seen as their middle years. When they are old enough to know better, but still young enough to get away with it. For others, it can be dreadful, when the warmth is just so overwhelming that there is no way to get comfortable. I mean, you can only take off so many clothes in public before winding up in jail."
I chuckled at that. "Go on."
"You can still sleep outside, though, without needing too much of a shelter. If you are fortunate enough to be outside of the city lights, it can be almost heavenly to just lay in the grass and watch the Milky Way."
"Why would anyone find that sad?"
"Oh, they wouldn't. Or at least they shouldn't. It is just knowing that before long, the nights will become chilly again before we want them to. These are the longest days of the year for a reason you know."
"What is that?"
"It gives us something to look forward to when winter comes. It is the memories of these days that keeps us holding on for more."
She paused then, and for the first time looked straight at me. Her eyes the color of glacier ice, with a dusting of glitter on her cheeks that looked almost like the sun on fresh snow. I was caught off guard by her beauty, and embarrassed by my stare. I looked away for a moment to gather my thoughts, and when I looked back again she was gone.
"Treasure these days," the wind whispered as it tussled my hair, "treasure these memories."