Bags sitting in the front hall
Waiting to be taken to camp
You make funny faces at Mom
As the bus pulls out
And rumbles over the road to Mount Solon
The chill of air conditioning
Raising goosebumps on your bare arms
While your fingernails grow and grow
Because there’s nowhere to go where it matters
And melons and berries smile seductively in the fridge
The spongy swoosh of a pink rubber ball
As it sails from your hand to your brother’s outstretched fingers
And the grass moist under your bare feet
When you crouch as it returns to you
And you fall over, laughing
The beach as you first remember it
Hot sand hiding sharp seashells that your little sister collects
Cold, salt waves lapping playfully at your ankles
As you wade deeper in, giggling and shivering
The juice of a warm plum running down your chin
As the sweet taste cascades into your mouth
And lazy laughs and voices
Floating over the still air
As every family on the block eats dinner outside
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