I’m in my bed, listening to music, my room’s window slightly tilted open. Lost in my thoughts, I hear a bell. Very distant but penetrant it sounds. A few moments I wonder where I’ve heard it before. “Of course,” it hits me, “it’s the ice cream truck.”
Today marks the middle of March, and temperatures are steadily rising. I missed it. Just like one book I have, I’m going to miss you. It’s about the summer. And I do miss it, the lightness of it all and the warmth on the tip of my nose.
The bell has stopped ringing by now. “They probably stopped to sell a few scoops of ice cream.” I usually don’t eat ice cream until June, or so, when I feel warm enough for its cold not to bother me.
I smile when I think about that moment. It will taste phenomenal, like spring and summer and love and a big hug, my favourite song and peace. For now though, I will listen to the Bells of Spring. Announcing its arrival. Giving me Hope. Something to hold onto.
