Paper snowflakes hang in the window of the cafe, the kind we used to make in grade school, of folded white paper and intricate yet simple cut-outs. I never had the mind to know what sort of design would result, so mine were always a mystery until the final reveal, and never as lovely as some of the more beautiful ones that other kids created.
The decorative demarcation of seasons and holidays, hung on the walls and windows as a way of guiding our children and ourselves, of making some small semblance of sense from a world gone all disorderly chaos and meaningless madness.
Childhood memories are trapped in all that papery snow, hidden in the little holes and etched in every line of this approximation of frost.
Someone at the counter asks if they have lemonade.
“We only have lemonade during summer,” comes the friendly let-down.
Suddenly I miss summer, as if I’d forgotten to do so in the rush of holiday mayhem.
What an unpleasant reminder.
