the colour: summer.

It takes two bowls for seamless cherry eating; one for the full cherries and one for the pits, or else the pits will stick to the untouched ones and they could end up in your mouth twice. We eat bowls of fruit until our mouths are sore from the pineapple and  I drink bottles and bottles of water and for a treat, lemonade, lots of lemonade. There are blissful bike rides home on side streets after long hours on a hot patio serving mojitos and sangria. I bike mostly when everyone else has already arrived home, with their curtains blowing out their windows, because I had to sweep the beer caps off the floor and stack the plates and make sure there's enough clean cutlery for the next day [how could you call it silverware; such a refined sounding word. When it's all kept in buckets and hastily polished and rolled tight in linen in conveyor-belt fashion, an industrial word like cutlery  seems more fitting].

My skin is sweaty and darkening in color, there are a few new freckles on my nose. I've developed fly away hairs around the nape of my neck that get curly with the rise in body temperature, and I've said to hell with nice hair and it has taken permanent residence at the top of my head. I've run into the lake which is too big to be warmed by the sun (hallelujah) and chilly-cold icicle-leg inducing perfection when it is 30-which-means-it-feels-like-50-because-there-is-this-thing-called-humidity-that-as-a-west-coaster-I-was-mostly-spared-from-my-entire-childhood. I had a fudgecicle last week, and on our way from the beach we frantically ate rocket-popsicles to keep as little popsicle as possible from dripping down our arms.

There are late nights with beers in hand, reclined in deep chairs, encircled with friends, rolling with laughter and stories, and more than one night arriving home with the sun starting to come up. We walk home weary-eyed and squinting, but with the deepest content; this is warmth.

The city is buzzing and people are visiting, we are flashing our best smiles to greet them all, with our festivals and concerts, theatre, buskers, applause. Crowds roaring for miles at the crack of the bat at the ball park. It makes it trickier to get to work, but this city has a pulse, and in this season, its adrenaline is pumping.

I'm sleepy and I'm awake and I'm tired from the hot sun and inspired to keep going and to stay awake just a little longer and catch the next buzz of excitement. The colour is summer and it is ripe and in season.

Posted on July 8, 2012 and filed under writing-.