The Perfect Summer had Snow

It was the same year I met *her*

Image by Jill Wellington from Pixabay

This is post #2 of a creative project I’m working on. You can read about it here.

What is your idea of the perfect summer?


The perfect summer had snow. It was the same year I met her.

The weatherman had predicted a balmy seventy-five degrees Fahrenheit with sun, beginning in late spring and lasting for at least a few weeks into the summer. Despite this, a miracle would occur, though the top scientists and philosophers tried very hard to explain it away with their most sophisticated theories, creating quite a tangle. For while the temperature was pleasant the whole time, on the first of July, in the middle of the night, a summer storm the likes of which had never been witnessed rolled its way through the open plains of the American Midwest.

The cicadas stopped humming, and the snow came. The winds howled all night, and denizens of sleepy mid-American towns — prepared as they were for an early summer of hotdogs, beer, fireworks and languorous conversation — arose the following morning surprised to learn of Father Winter’s joke.

Except, this wasn’t a joke. And it was nothing like winter. Although its texture was the same as usual, the snow wasn’t even cold, except in one case, which was when it was being used for making a proper snow cone — with real snow! Ordinary summertime events went on as they normally would, with the snow never melting, even under the gaze of August’s torrid eye, nor ever turning brown or getting dirty. It was a light powder that made everything brighter for a while, just like she was.

She was gone by October, and so was the snow.

How would you answer the prompt?

Definitely not a robot.

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