The sun is shining in Toronto, and it's so beautifully warm on my skin. Soon, days will be given over to outdoor pools, island beaches, freckled noses, and iced tea.
There's so much magic in summer.
When I was a kid, summer stretched out forever. Two months away from school felt like an eternity. Absolutely anything could happen.
We caught giant bullfrog tadpoles at Aubrey's pond, and tried not to scare the turtles at mine. Even a glimpse felt like winning. We were usually too loud, and just as we snuck into view, the turtles would splash under, disappearing from our curious gaze.
My sisters and I would spray lemon juice and hydrogen peroxide in our hair and lie in the sun, reading books for hours. We splashed in the oversized horse trough we called "the pool" and watch water bugs swim to the surface.
I stayed in the water until my hands and feet pruned over with wrinkles, until I could peel the rough bits of my heels off in pieces. I wanted to stay overnight, because I was absolutely certain that if I could just stay overnight, I'd be a mermaid by morning. I blame a beat-up VHS tape of Splash, recorded off TV, for setting my mind spinning.
Next month, I'll finally be a mermaid, though one of my own making. I'm going to New York to visit my friend Cameo and we're going to dress ourselves in scales and sparkles and walk in the Coney Island mermaid parade.
Dreams can come true, if we'll only make them.