When I was younger, I would spend several hours at the city's pool each day, browning my skin and challenging my best friend to diving contests. In the evening, I would shower the chlorine from my dark ringlets and admire the stark line between tan and swimsuit.
There is no longer a city pool; it was bulldozed and filled in last year. There isn't as much time for backyard barbeques as I would like, and my brother's upcoming wedding makes me frightened of tan lines.
Summer, like childhood, used to be so innocent. I wish I could light another sparkler and dance among the fireflies. I fear the girl who once dug sand castle cities and played softball in her neighbor's backyard has fallen in the corn, forgotten. Thank goodness for the certain things:
Road trips, or even easy travel;
cutesy, flowery dresses;
white, eclectic, vintage-themed weddings;
rhythmic, consuming bodies of water;
fresh produce straight from the garden;
fresh, sweet, delicious fruit;
campfires and outside explorations;
days (and nights) at the beach;
outdoor adventures and vacations in places the feature "real" fresh air;
and miniature, soul-illuminating fireworks.
I can't believe that it's mid-July already.