When I was a kid,

I didn’t know when summer was —

didn’t know that solstice

was the beginning of its end;

 

hours of daylight

in which to play

filled the cares of our lives,

 

folded over each other

like soft ice cream overflowing

its cone. Mouthwatering

 

anticipation conditioned by the truck’s

tinkling sounds — a music box on wheels

that could be heard

winding its way through the neighbourhood,

 

approaching slowly like adulthood

— a tantalizing promise

much sweeter from afar.

 

Such creamy-white coolness,

still refreshing —

but richer now

for the memories of days

when calendars

were just pretty pictures —

not a measure

of the seconds of our lives

 

© by Jana Kalina.

Used with the author’s permission.