Summer's delight

I.

The sunlight beamed over the photos like paint over a blank canvas. The photos that were on the table—now drowned in the intense golden sunlight. It was picked up by a gentle, slender hand. Iris was born and raised in this lovely place—Flowergarden, a village in Europe. The photo reminded her of the times she spent on that road trip.

In June when the days were maliciously hot around the village's region. Iris walked to the village's only bus stop. At these times, the village gave her a sense of serenity. She liked the season, always had been. It offended her in a way that the others were simply leaving—for a vacation to some but most wanted a better life, in a city, industrialized, insistent noise and crowded. The ice cream she bought, a simple popsicle, grape in flavor began to melt. Grape was her favorite, the dark purple gave her an image of a long and forgotten past—nostalgia. She always wondered, of how she felt, a mysterious yet full of sorrow kind of feeling but all of it matters naught because she was happy, she was never the one to be green with envy nor hot with rage. And so if that was the feeling she felt, she was overjoyed, a happy and foolish girl. She began to lick the droplets that appeared on the popsicle. She sat at this bus stop everyday, every summer, it was to relax and so that she can go somewhere else far away. The hotness of summer that warmed the cheeks was by if not, her favorite part of summer.

There were days where sunny hot days ended abruptly and rain would came rushing in. Wild flowers would bloom on such occasions. It was said that the village was named after the phenomenon.

Like flowers, love blooms and wilt.

Iris was curious, she wanted to experience it but it never showed itself.

The bus came at last. By then, she had already finished her ice cream, carefully cleaning her hand full of melted ice. Iris wore her favorite white dress, perfect for summer she thought. Iris stepped on the bus, heading for the outskirts.

The bus began to move. As the scenery was changing, Iris stared at the rapidly moving window; a field of irises blooming. This was also one of the reasons why she loved summer so much, to look at the flowers whom she was named after. Her father told her that she was born around this month, she didn't care much about birthdays.

The outskirts were small hills that surrounded the village and further from them, a forest. When Iris crossed the hills the wind blew hot yet warm, the sun was behind her and shined brightly; it was about to set.

Iris tossed the tote bag she had been carrying. She sat down and admired the view. It was beautiful, the sky was blue, vast like the oceans she occasionally saw in her parents' pictures. Iris sighed, her parents were a carefree sort, the one who would willingly abandon their child if they were deemed an obstacle. So they did, only allowances and photos of their travels. Iris hated the ocean, it's like wounds that cannot be healed, whenever she looks at it, it stings.

She laid down, head free of thoughts and closed her eyes. It was rather difficult, she began to think about the seasons just like she always would. July filled her with uncertain feelings of ecstasy, and in this mood she wanted something more, something that is exciting, something that would make her feel the "jumping with joy" kind of emotion. It was something she would think of every time she remembered July. Among other routines, she usually spends time reading books. Books by her grandfather whom she loved very much, now being immortalized. It was him that took her in, it was him that gave her love. As she looked over the scarlet horizon, Iris was tired of this life. She wanted to run—she wanted to disappear.

II.

In August, John Waterson, tall, broad, came down from his city to spend four days. His intention was to settle a matter that had been troubling him. He then rented out the best villa in the village, brimming with luxury, stood tall and solemnly on top of the greenish hill of the village. There, he would visit Silverwood lake as often as he could. It was one of the lake that was talked about in the more sophisticated places. Campers mostly. At night, the lake was beaming with light or rather the reflection of the moon. The calm waters laid still like a mirror, then the silvery light streamed down among the vast ocean of stars.

Around dusk, Iris would usually snuck out and went to the lake. There were fishes creating small ripples that synchronized with the songs that she overheard. She sat on a wooden bench, quietly and listened.

She heard footsteps, a man, John, walking to Iris. He was captivated by her innocent beauty that he knew, it was her.

"Hello. Care to join me?" She looked at him.

"Yes. My pleasure, haven't seen you around this part." He replied.

"My name is Iris, what is yours?"

"The name is John. John Waterson. Would you care to go somewhere with me tomorrow? Surely, a beautiful girl like you wouldn't refuse such an opportunity."

For what it seems, her heart was full of desires but this was not what she imagined. The beating of her heart was like the fishes that were jumping in the lake, the unfathomable feeling had left her silent. His casual yet charming words gave her a new direction to her life.

"Yes, I would love to!" Her smile was like the sun, contrasting the shining moon.

III.

John, now seemingly had settled the matter, by inviting a girl he believed to be the one into his villa. It then took only an afternoon and evening in front of an open fire. When it was time that Iris had to wear good clothes, she wore the dress that her grandmother once did. She wondered if John's parents were still around. Not that she didn't mind them but it was only to feed her inquisitive mind.

Dinner came, they were happy, they talked. They talked of their education, of how John inherited his father's business and how he considered things boring after receiving such riches. For John Waterson, he had everything she wanted; and besides, she loved him. His mother, an Austrian and was a working class type. She talked in broken English and would continue to do so until the end of her days. They passed away soon after John received the inheritance.

"Would it be nice if we travel the world together?" John proposed.

"Why so?"

"It will be nice, the two of us, a holiday, summer vacation!"

"Then let's go, my dear! Anywhere you want and I'll be there with you." Iris sang happily.

For a moment she doubted his intentions but... There were no lies in his words. A chance to leave everything behind for a time. There were moments, moments of when she talked to her late grandfather, of how she loved the feelings of being loved by someone else.

IV.

It was like that. Iris would travel across Europe, it was peaceful and full of surprises. During that time, on the train, as she laid her head on him, he whispered "The moment I first saw you, I thought I'm in love with you." It was a romantic thing to say, and for the rest of the ride, she felt like something she held dear, like she owned something.

Paris and its Tower is getting closer, the city majestic and mystical as ever, had never failed to amaze Iris. It was a romantic city, maybe that's why she loved it so much.

For the rest of the afternoon, they would visit the Tower, stayed at a café, enjoyed the scenery. At night, the city lit up, enchanted with a magic spell that, from what it looks, a gem of Europe.

"Oh John. enjoy this moment. With you. Do you feel the same?" Iris whispered.

"I'll tell you," he said softly, if you'll just tell me that you're glad to be here."

She pouted "Of course I am! I am glad!"

The dark sky above and the Eiffel's magnificent glow blended in perfectly like a picture which will imprint in her memory forever more. She buried her face deep into his coat, closing her eyes as his lips kissed the tip of her ear.

It was a trip that she'll never forget.

"I love you."