A Change of Seasons

A Change of Seasons

I woke up with the breeze blowing from the wrong direction.

“It’s summer,” I remarked, for no apparent reason. I had no idea what that had to do with the day. Winds could blow out of the north at any time of the year. Still, it seemed pertinent, so I repeated my words.

“It’s summer.”

Feeling somewhat better, although still aware that something was not quite right, I pulled on my leggings, donned a light jacket, and made my way out the front door and onto the sidewalk in front of my house. I noticed Jerry from next door was raking leaves. I called to him.

“Jerry, what goes? I thought that was for fall.” I mimed a leaf rake, as I pretended to drag it along the sidewalk, and I laughed.

“So it is,” he returned, with a grin and a wave. He turned back to his rake and began to vigorously stab at a pile of brightly colored leaves.

Odd, I thought. Leaves from last fall would be brittle and brown. Not colorful. How very odd. I wonder how that could be. I had no time to think further on it, as something smashed at my feet, and I leaped backwards before I was injured.

“Sorry, Mr. Jenkins. I was aiming for Marjorie.”

I looked to see Barry from across the road with a large slingshot. A pile of miniature pumpkins filled a basket at his feet. I realized the walk just in front of me was littered with the remains of one of Barry’s pumpkins.

Before I could reply, an attack cry startled me. Marjorie was hiding behind a bush to my left, and a water balloon whizzed into the air. It was yellow and translucent, very large, and it undulated through the sky as if in slow motion. About halfway over the street, I saw it was perfectly aimed for Barry’s torso, and I wondered if he would move out of the way.

“Barry,” I called, hoping to warn him. He looked my way just in time for the water balloon to impact him on the chest, sending a shower of water from his neck to his knees. I raised a hand in apology and called out, “Sorry!’

I ducked my head, feeling guilty. I walked quickly down the street, and I looked forward to turning the corner. I could see green grass filling the Hooper’s yard, and their son, Abe, was just starting up the lawnmower.

Perhaps it was summer, still, on Magnolia Avenue. That’s where I wanted to be. Roosevelt Road could keep Halloween. I had enough of hooligan pranks months ago.

I picked up the pace, watching the green of Magnolia growing ever closer.