Nectarine Dreams

The fruits of summer had always been the sweetest. As he sat on the coast, snacking contentedly on plump nectarines and cherries, their sticky juices streaming down his chin and fingers, Daimon wished he could sit beneath the hot summer sun forever. Lazy days by the water, a gentle breeze on the air, the promise of sunshiny, saltwater days yet to come - he might have been young, but Daimon could not picture a life more perfect than that.

And while the sun would remain high above the horizon for many more hours still, a nagging voice reminded Daimon that eventually, even this most perfect afternoon would pass. Eventually, the white sands beneath his feet would grow cold and dark, the waters too frigid to touch, the fruits but seedlings waiting for the summer to return once again. It was impossible for the eight year old to enjoy his vacation thoroughly with the knowledge that such frigid dark days were looming.

That was when the idea was first born. Daimon was fed up of watching his picturesque summer’s pass him by each year, and was determined to hold on to his sunshine however he could. A kind old neighbor, a wrinkled, spritely man named Sam, had once suggested in passing that the sun never need set on him at all. It was all Daimon had ever needed to hear.

Sam had told him that the sun never disappeared and never went out. Instead, the playful golden orb hid every night beyond the horizon, shining instead on strangers in foreign lands with foreign faces. But why should those lucky strangers enjoy the best of the summer while Daimon was left to wait for the light to return? It was about time someone gave chase to the elusive sun, and with his lazy summer days at stake, Daimon was certain he’d be the one to do it.

For most of the day, he combed the coastline, collecting feathers shed by the gulls that constantly flew overhead. With some effort, he gathered several handfuls of the soft feathers, as well as a decent assortment of colorful shells for his own collection back home. Combined with a few candles snatched from his father’s supply, the feathers would be the key to his endless summer.

The wax candles melted quickly, and were surprisingly easy for the young boy to shape with his clumsy fingers once he had practice at it. He could mold the wax into a reliable frame in a matter of minutes; after, with a little more heat and a great deal of patience, the feathers could be embedded into the wax without struggle. The work was complete just in time: by sunset, Daimon had a set of lush angel wings, sized perfectly for an eight year old with his eyes deadset on the distant horizon.

There was not much time left until the sun disappeared. Daimon lugged his wings to the roof of his home, up three separate flights of stairs as quickly as his stumpy legs would let him. The sun was now little more than a sliver in the distance.

Daimon held a wing in each hand as he stepped up to the edge of the rooftop. Below him, he knew the green grass was still littered with burnt wicks and discarded feathers, but from so high above, only the occasional speck of white caught his eye. His vision went slightly blurred as he spied the feathers below; his knees knocked, threatening to give way. But still, the sun waited, calling to him from afar. He raised his arms, preparing to take flight.

“Daimon!”

He turned to the sharp voice of his father. The man, older, balding, his face now bright red, sprinted across the roof to him, his eyes wide as he raced towards his son. He wrapped his arms around Daimon and pulled him away from the edge in a single fell swoop, his heart pounding. “What on Earth do you think you’re doing?”

“I’m going to fly!” Daimon announced, beaming with pride. He shook off his father’s arms as he held up his handmade wings. “I’m going to catch the sun!”

His father stroked the feathered wings with interest. “Aren’t these special? But, why would you want to chase the sun? It sounds like an awfully dangerous job.”

“So that the day never has to end! Then it can be summer forever, and I never have to go back to school!”

Now that the initial fright had worn off, his father chuckled at his son’s enthusiastic grin. “I see. But Daimon, do you really want today to last forever? I think you’d miss the passing time if it disappeared.”

Adamantly, Daimon shook his head. “Never! I could eat all the nectarines and never run out if it were always summer. I could nap on the beach and count clouds in the sky. I’d never be bored or sad or anything!”

“But you’d never have another birthday, would you? And I was going to get you something really exciting this year.”

Daimon frowned. “Really?”

“Really. And you’d never grow up big and strong, like me. You’d never manage to eat more nectarines than I can.”

“That’s true…”

“And if it were summer forever, the figs would never grow. Do you want that? You love the figs.”

Daimon stared at the wings in his arms, his mind racing over what his father had told him. As much as he loved lazy summer days, he would certainly miss seeing the colors of autumn and the flowers of spring.  And maybe, if his life were always summer, the long, hot days wouldn’t be so special anymore. Maybe summer was only special when it came but once a year.

He dropped the wings at his side. “I don’t want that.”

“I didn’t think so.” Gently, his father wrapped an arm around the boy’s shoulders. “Why don’t we walk down to the shore and watch the stars tonight? I’ll show you the constellations.”

Bobbing his head, Daimon bent down and scooped up his wings. “Okay, Pappa. I’ll give these to Ica tomorrow - he’s always wanted to fly.”

Laughing, his father led him inside. “I’m sure Daedalus will appreciate that greatly,” he mused with a smile. “Now, come on; let me show you just how beautiful the night time truly is.”