Micro Fiction Monday: Summer Is

Summer is feet on the dashboard, plastic warmed by the shining sun. It’s the howling wind when you roll down the car window, the country station blasting through the speakers. Summer is an excuse to eat ice cream, licking the stray drips off your fingers. It’s running around barefoot, abandoning your sandals to feel the sand, the pavement, the grass beneath your toes.

Summer is possibility. It’s the feeling that longer days mean more time, that you can hop on the wind and ride it for miles. Summer is temporary freedom—from school, from work, from responsibility. It’s a day at the beach, or at the park, or just driving around doing nothing at all.

Summer is everything, and nothing. It’s a vacation, a road trip, cramming every second full with something new and exciting. It’s a day spent at home, in the comfort of air conditioning, licking a popsicle from the comfort of your own couch. Summer is both comfort and excitement, and everything in between.

Summer is the hope that, at the end of it all, you’ll have an amazing story to tell.

Micro Fiction Monday: Saturday Mornings

Saturday mornings can be divided into one of two categories: either they are the Holy Grail of the weekend, or they are the spawns of Satan’s children. There is no in between.

The morning falls under the latter when I’m pulled from sleep by shrill beeping, with fewer hours spent in dreamland than I would have liked. When the commute nearly puts me to sleep, and the day feels like it should be over before it’s hardly even begun.

The former appears in the peak of summer, when the sun begins to shine through the trees, but the coolness of night still lingers in the air. When the dew clings to the grass and sticks to my feet, and returning to bed is the last thing on my mind. Without the fog of fatigue clouding my brain, the colours around me are more vibrant, shocking, beautiful.  The cold is welcome, not resented.

Put simply, Saturday mornings are infinitely more enjoyable when you have nowhere to be, nothing to do, and at least eight hours of sleep under your pillow.

Sunrise (Micro Fiction Monday)

The boy was born from the land. His body emerged from the depths of the cold earth, his breath borrowed from the wind, the colour of his eyes as green as the leaves that sprouted up around him. His skin was brown like the bark of the trees that raised him. They spoke to him, and he understood as easily as a son understands his father.

The girl was born from the sky. Her skin was as pale as the moonlight, her hair as black as the darkest night. Her body was formed by the stars—just like the ones who spoke to her, gossiping and giggling over the actions of the humans below.

Humans like the son of the Earth, who often stared up at the stars in awe and amazement, dreaming of a world he would never know. He caught the twinkling eyes of the girl in the sky, and their love came together in an explosion of colours—orange and pink and everything in between. Their love was warm, and it was hopeful. Like the rise of a new day.

~~

Until later,

- Justyne