Lemonade Afternoon

Lemonade Afternoon


It was a lemonade sort of Sunday afternoon. One in which the sunshine, if it had a voice, would sound shrill as it ran rampant through the thick canopy of soft green leaves that helped hide any breeze trying to stroll across the boards of the porch.
The old RC thermometer with its faded red diamond and rust edged sides that dad nailed on the porch years ago showed a sweat birthing ninety-eight degrees.
On days like this mama always said the same thing, “Poppy, that thermometer is laughing at us.” To which dad replied,
“Yup, that’s the only thing doing its work today.”
Then they’d chuckle as they sipped from their glasses.
We kids didn’t mind the hot days so much because we could run off to the spring fed pond. But not today. It was a lemonade sort of day and mama made the sweetest, coolest, pulp filled lemonade in the whole county.