Days in Summer

The car was driving on a bumpy road bordered by bushes stippled with red-petaled flowers. The vast meadow stretched beyond the horizon and farmhouses were scattered within the green field. I rolled down the car window. The summer breeze was blowing soft and fresh, and the fragrance of blooming flowers filled the air.

Eventually, our car stopped in front of a wooden cottage. The house was painted in white, except for the green rooftop. A crooked log fence surrounded it, and in the back, there was a big garage. Weeds and wild flowers grew everywhere. My parents had bought the old cottage a few months ago so that our family could stay in the countryside during the holidays. The village was tranquil and soothing, a contract with the crowded city and jammed streets. I hopped out of the car and looked around. Sunlight fell upon the land, and birds flew in the clear sky, whistling their delightful tunes. A swarm of butterflies caught my eye as they drifted and bobbed in the direction of the woods behind our house.

“Mia, come help us with the suitcases,” called Mom as she unloaded the bags from the back of the car with Dad.

“Coming!”

The next day dawned bright and sunny. I was the first to get up, so I decided to take my favorite toy bear outdoor and enjoy the sunshine in the early morning. I strolled through the green field around the house and picked wild flowers. The butterflies appeared again. I noticed colorful dots sparkling upon the trees toward which the butterflies were flying. Upon closer examination, the colorful dots visible from afar turned out to be painted lightbulbs dangling on the branches, hung there to illuminate the path into the forest when it gets dark. Curiosity led me to the end of the road in the woods. Surprisingly, in a clearing surrounded by trees, stood an odd cabin.

In front of the house, there were long wooden boxes filled with grain, wheat, and seeds. Birds were everywhere-on the roof, the branches, and in front of the door. The trees surrounding the cabin were tangled with even more colorful lightbulbs, and flowers of various kinds grew all over the place. Suddenly, the door opened.

“Good morning young lady, how may I help you?” smiled the old man whose delightful smile now welcomed me. He was wearing a dusty brown jacket with a wrinkled shirt, dirty pants, and boots. What really caught my eye was his funny hat. It was a worn explorer’s hat plugged with purple and blue feathers.

“Good morning, sir.” I stammered.

“I suppose you have not had breakfast yet. Would you like to come inside and grab a bite? The cookies just came out of the oven!” said the old man with excitement. My stomach was growling. The smell of freshly baked cookies was really tempting, so I accepted his invitation and walked into

the cabin.

The room we entered was small, with antiques stacked high against the wall. They were exotic but fascinating. We entered the kitchen and sat at a small, round table.

“You can call me Mr. Jones. What’s your name, little one?” “Mia.”

“Alright Mia, I guarantee this will be the best oatmeal cookie you’ve ever tasted.” Mr. Jones placed a tray of biscuits on the table and poured a glass of milk.

“Have you ever drunk milk with strawberry jam? You should try it, there’s a funny taste.”

I was surprised to hear this odd combination, but decided to give it a try. I scooped some strawberry jam from the glass jar and used a small spoon to mix it into the milk. The pinkish milk was sweet but surprisingly tasty.

“Do you like it? The idea of combining them together suddenly came to me one morning, and I made the same expression when I first tried it,” said Mr. Jones proudly.

“I do like it. Thank you Mr. Jones!”

“Glad to hear it. Now try the oatmeal cookies.”

We had fun chatting during breakfast. Looking around, I noted a scruffy magician’s hat and a crooked wand, that seemed out of place, lying on a counter full of jars of all sizes filled with spices.

“Can you do magic tricks, Mr. Jones?”

“A few, but I’m not professional.” responded the old man as he took another biscuit. “Can you turn a pumpkin into a carriage?”

“I’m afraid that’s too hard for me.”

“What about turning my dress to the color blue?” “Not quite.”

“Then what can you do?”

“Well, I can make the toy bear that you brought with you shrink, but that trick will require a bit of assistance from my old friend, Time.”

“Time can’t be your friend,” I replied.

“Why not? In fact, Time is everyone’s friend. He will be your longest and most precious friend! You will see one day, young lady. Time is cruel, but he teaches you a lot.”

I was dazed. I didn’t really understand Mr. Jones or his friend, “Time”, so I remained silent. Then Mr. Jones continued.

“Ah look, our friend Time is saying that you should head back home now. I assume your family should be awake by now.”

I glanced at the clock hanging on the wall, and was stunned by how much time had already passed.

“You’re right, Mr. Jones. Thank you for your kindness and hospitality. Can I come around some other day?”

“Sure. Come whenever you want-it’s good to have company.”

The old man smiled amiably as he waved goodbye from the front door. That summer I visited Mr. Jones’ old wooden cabin almost every day. He taught me to bake oatmeal cookies, how to make origami animals, and to make strange inventions out of cast-off materials. We fed ducks with bread crumbs, picked raspberries, and collected pretty pebbles near the pond. Sometimes, I would sneak out of the house at night and lay down in a clearing in the forest to gaze up at the starry night sky with Mr. Jones.

Night cloaked the terrain in darkness. Only twinkling stars illuminated our little world, and the wind was whispering to our ears. Suddenly, Mr. Jones broke the silence.

“They say that when people leave this world, they become one of the shining stars looking over us from above. But you know what? I’d prefer to become a bird. I don’t want to see the world; I want to explore it. Life is too short for wishes and dreams. We are trapped in reality. We take responsibilities, perform duties, and often life doesn’t go the way that we’d planned. I still have so many places to go and so many promises to fulfill. But I only realized what was truly important in the end.”

“You can still go. Just pack up and go on a trip!”

“Well, you see, little one, my friend Time and I had a big argument, and now we’re drifting apart.”

Summer had gone by in a dash, and it was time for us to go back to the city. I visited Mr. Jones’ house for one last time to say farewell. As always he was soothing and comforted my sadness.

“You’ll meet a lot of people in your life, Mia. People will come, and people will go. This is part of

growing up. I hope that you grow up and be free, young lady.”

Mr. Jones took off his explorer’s hat, which I had rarely seen him without, and handed it to me. “Goodbye, Mia.”

“I will come again next summer, Mr. Jones. It’s a promise.”

Mr. Jones was quiet; he only smiled. We waved goodbye, and the old man watched me leave the woods.

A year went by. Summer came again. I ran into the forest, and headed toward the old cabin. At the end of the path, I was shocked. The flowers had withered. The garden was isolated. There was no more grain in the large wooden box, and the colorful lightbulbs had all shattered. The birds were gone, and so was the old man.