prompt: summer memory
Hearing the crunch and pop of gravel under the tires of the car brings me instantly back the the idyllic summers of my childhood.
Whether wide awake and bored, on the verge of tears, or in deep unconscious slumber, the sound of stones and gravel popping like popcorn against the car was the signal that we had turned off the searing hot, highway asphalt and onto country roads. It was a call to alertness. The cottage is near.
That sound brings with it a flood of sensations. Instantly I can feel the cool, clear lake water on my skin. I can hear the rhythmic lapping of the lake against the aluminum boats, and the clang of the boats bobbing next to the dock. I can see the slimy, moss covered stones at the edge of the lake. I feel the squish of the muddy lake floor between my toes.
I can savour the taste of half-burnt, half goey marshmallow served with a hint of tree bark on my tongue. I can hear the crackling and popping of the fire, as logs shift and drop, sending a spray of orange embers heavenward.
I can feel the cool air as I raise my face from the heat of the flames to look up into the vast expanse of darkness, peppered with brilliant blazes of uncountable stars.
I breathe deeply wishing for the scent of moist leaves and pine trees and a wood burning fire but instead my nostrils are filled with the smell of a hot, broiled leather car interior.
Opening my eyes the reality sets in. I'm not at the cottage after all. Instead it's the parking lot of the local baseball diamond. Next to me is an anxious eight year old ready to put his softball through the window. It's game time.
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