My Favourite Season Summer ❲2024-2026❳

The municipal pool was a miracle of chaos. It smelled of chlorine, coconut sunscreen, and cheap hot dogs. It was a roiling mass of splashing kids, where the lifeguard’s whistle was the only law. We didn’t swim laps; we waged underwater wars, holding our breath until our lungs screamed, wrestling for a single, sunken quarter at the deep end. We flew off the high dive, not as boys, but as Icarus, arms wide, stomach dropping, before slapping the water with a crack that left red welts on our chests. It was glorious.

And then, the fireflies.

“Pool?” Sam asked, shaking his wet hair like a golden retriever. my favourite season summer

The sound of a basketball dribbling on the driveway pulled me off the bed. My best friend, Sam, was already outside, his tank top stuck to his skin. “You coming, or are you gonna hibernate until August?” he yelled up.

Winter is for waiting. Spring is for sneezing. Fall is for homework. But summer? Summer is for being . It’s the season that doesn't care about your shoes or your grades or your alarm clock. It grabs you by the back of the neck and shoves your face into a bowl of ripe strawberries. The municipal pool was a miracle of chaos

Around nine o’clock, the air grew heavy. The crickets stopped chirping. A hush fell over the neighborhood. Then, a flicker of light behind the hills, too brief to be lightning, more like a camera flash from God. Sam would look at me, eyes wide. We’d grab our skateboards and race to the highest point of the street—the old fire road.

Afterward, the air was clean and cold. The streets ran with rivers of rainwater. And the smell—that impossible, sweet, wet-earth smell—was the smell of being alive. We didn’t swim laps; we waged underwater wars,

“Pool,” I confirmed.