Melissa Writes About Summer

Melissa Writes About Summer

            By Valerie L. Egar

            

       “Mom, Dad!  Do you want to hear what I wrote?” Melissa called.

Ms. Phillips, her teacher, had asked the class to use their imaginations and write about summer. “Think about the things you like about summer,” she said. “Then think— if summer could make sounds, what would they be? What colors do you think of when you think about summer?”  Melissa thought and thought. She spent most of Sunday writing:

The Colors of Summer

Summer is red. Hot sun, glowing red. Red plastic beach pail and shovel to dig in the sand. Red convertible cruising with its top down.  Sweet red strawberries on Grandma’s pound cake, topped with whipped cream. Red cherries, piled high. My fingers juicy red from picking raspberries with Mom. Red Sox games! Summer is red.

            Summer is green. Shaded woods, green leaves lifting in a breeze. Green scent of cut grass. Hummingbird buzzing in the bee balm. A picnic at my cousin’s with a green striped watermelon my Uncle Bob grew. Caterpillar hiding in weeds. Green frogs plop, plop, plop in the lake when I step near. Summer is green.

            Summer is blue. Bluebird flying in the meadow, sitting on a fence. Dad paddling a blue canoe across the lake with me in front. Clear blue sky, no clouds.  Blue dragonfly on a lily pad. Crackle of lightning— electric blue— across the sky. Blue water: our neighbor’s pool, the lake by Grandma, the ocean.  My toenails painted blue for everyone to see. Summer is blue.

            Orange? Summer is bright with orange. Popsicles and sherbet.  Flaming sunsets. The evening campfire where we 

sit, looking at the flames, roasting marshmallows, and telling stories.  Monarch butterflies in the garden. Tiger lilies growing next to the road on the way to my cousin’s house. Summer is orange.

            Summer didn’t leave yellow out.  Fireflies blinking at twilight. Fields of sunflowers. Ears of corns, yellow and sweet, 

dripping with butter. My flip-flops and my favorite pair of shorts. The bright spot of yellow at the center of a daisy. Summer is yellow.

            And, my favorite—purple. I don’t know why people call blueberries blue, because they are really purple. I love blueberries and I like picking them with Mom and Dad. Mom makes blueberry pie and blueberry jam and she freezes bags and bags of them for winter. When she makes a blueberry pie in January, every bite tastes like a warm August day.

            “Wow,” said Dad. 

            “That is beautiful,” said Mom.  “I could never write something like that.”

            Ms. Phillips asked Melissa to read her composition to the class. At first she felt shy, but when she saw people start to smile, she relaxed and read on. When she finished, the class clapped.

            Ms. Phillips talked to Melissa after lunch. “You are a talented writer,” she said. “Not everyone sees things the way you do and not everyone can express what they see and feel with words. You might want to think about becoming a writer.”

            A writer!  Melissa thrilled to the idea that she might be able to write stories and books like the ones she enjoyed reading. It was something wonderful to dream about and she carried the idea close to her heart as she grew.

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Copyright 2017 by Valerie L. Egar. May not be copied or reproduced without permission from the author.
Published July 2, 2017, Journal Tribune Sunday (Biddeford, ME).