Forever Summer.docx

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Forever Summer.docx

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Forever Summer.docx

ForeverSummer

//------------------------------//

//ForeverSummer//byColdinGardez//------------------------------//

//TheFirstDayofSummer//------------------------------//

Themorningdawnedlikeanyotherlate-springdayinPonyville.Birdssinging,gorgeoussunlightingtheeasternsky,etcetera,etcetera.Theusual,inotherwords:

PonyvillebeingPonyville.Celestia'sfavoritelittletown,whereeverythingwasperfect.

Exceptforalltheterrifiedponies.Thatwasabitunusual,butwe'llgettotheminamoment.

Thedaylookedtobeascorcher.Thesunwasn'tevenoverthehorizon,andalreadythehumidairstucktoponies'coatsandsmotheredtheirtongueswitheachbreath.Highabove,theearly-risersofthePonyvilleWeatherTeamhadalreadyclearedawaythenight'sthinovercast,leavingonlyadeepazurethatslowlybledtogreyandpinkintheeast.Aweakbreezerustledthehighestleavesonthegreatoakinthetownsquare,butatstreetleveltheairbarelystirred,asifittoowerestilltryingtowake.

Thefarmponieswerealreadyupandgettingtowork.Theyrosewiththesun,ormaybeabitearlier,dependingonhowlazythesunwasbeingthatday.Celestiawasknowntosleepinsometimes,despitetheattemptsofherentirestafftobreakdownherchamberdoorandrousehersothatshemightraisethesun.Onthosedays,thedarknesslastedalittlelongerthannormal,untilinasuddenmomentthesunracedintothesky,settlingintoamid-morningpositionlikeasheepishfoalwhohopedhertardinesshadnotbeennoticed.

Itwasalwaysnoticed,ofcourse.Butponies,evenfarmerswhoneededthesun,tendedtolovetheirprincessevenmore,andsotheyneverletherknowthatitbotheredthem.Theyjustworkedinthedarksomemornings.

Todaywasnotoneofthosedays.Celestiahadnotsleptthroughheralarm,andthesunrosepreciselywhenthealmanacsaiditwould.Thefarmponiesnoticedthis,noddedapprovingly,andthencastwary,frightenedglancesovertheirshoulders.

Intheheartoftown,theshopkeepersandbusinessponieswereslightlyslowergettingtowork.Businesshourswerenotfarmhours,afterall,andtownponiestendedtoriselaterintheday,notuntilthefirstraysofthesunbrokethroughthewindowstobrightentheirbedrooms.

Today,thoseponieslayinbed,stillbutnotasleep.Theyclutchedthecoverstotheirchestsandstaredattheceilingsorthedoors.Theytriedtobreatheasquietlyaspossible.

Finally,therewerethetown'spegasi,mostofwhomwerestillasleepandhadnointentionofwakinguntilthesunwasclosertonoon.Thefewexceptions–theaforementionedweatherteammembers,whowokeunderprotest,andthetown'sanimalcaretaker,livingoutontheedgeoftheEverfree–wereamongtheonlypegasitherestofthetownwouldseeforhalftheday.

ThusitwasthatthesundawnedonPonyville,onanormal,beautiful,mundanelyperfectlate-springday.Normal,exceptthatitwasalsothefirstdayofsummerbreak.

Thefoalswereloose.Cheerilee'sfreebabysitting-slash-educationalservicesweredoneforthreemonths,andtheschoolteacherherselfwasalreadyhalfwaytoLasPegasus,wherethefirstofmanyheavilysaltedmargaritaswaitedforheronthepooldeck.

Thefoalswereloose.Theyblinkedtheirgummyeyesandtotteredoutofbed,wonderingforafewconfusedmomentswheretheirparentswere,andwhytheywerenotbeinghustledintothebathroomsandofftobreakfastandoutthedoorwithbook-stuffedsaddlebagsandlunchpails.Andthenthelastfogofsleepdriftedaway,andtheyrememberedrunningouttheschoolhousedoors,andtheyshriekedwithjoy.Summer–themagicalpromisedlandofsummer–hadfinallyarrived.

Thefoalswereloose.Andthatwasterrifying.

//------------------------------//

//AppleBloom'sMorning//------------------------------//

AppleBloomwoketoabsolutestillness.

Thefarmhousewasasquietasawinternight.Theoldtimberwalls,usuallyraucouswithcreaksandcracksintheslightestofbreezes,weresilent,asifstillasleepthemselves.Nohoofstepsfromhersisterorbrotherechoedupthestairs,andthefaintmorninglightcreepinginbeneaththecurtaintoldhertheywerealreadyawake,puttingtoresttheday'sfirstchores.Theonlysoundswereherbreathandthefaintthrumofbloodbeatinginherears.

Outside,anearlyrobinwarbledafewtentativenotes.Nothingelseanswered.

Thesilencewasperfect,almostsacred.Someimpulse–theonethatkeptherfromshoutingacrosstheclassroomwhenMs.Cheerileewasalreadyangrywithher–cautionedheragainstspeakingnow.Thepeaceofthemorningwassepulchral,anditdemandedrespect.

“It'ssummer,”shewhisperedintoherpillowcase.

Sheclimbedoutofbed,settingherhoovesdownonthebarewoodfloorasgentlyasifitwereeggshell.Theroomaroundherwaswarmalready,onitswaytocloying,butsheknewbetterthantoopenthewindow.Thatwouldletintheworldoutside,andtheperfectsilencewouldbelosttothewind.Bettertoleavethewindowclosedandtrapthequietwhereshecouldkeepitforlater.

Silencewasrareonafarm.Ifitwasn'ttreatedcarefullyitcouldbreak,justlikethetimeshewasn'tcarefulwithBigMacintosh'scollectionofexoticfruitjamsandpreserves.Butsilencedidn'tturnintoastickymessalloverthecellarfloorandthreeweeksofextrachoreswhenbroken–itwasjustgone,andnomatterhowmuchsheyelledorstompedorcussed,itdidn'tcomeback.Ithadtobeheldgently,likebabyducks,andcovetedforeveryseconditlasted.

Breathingwastooloud,soshestoppedandignoredherburninglungsasshecrossedtheroomtoslipoutintothehallway,closingthebedroomdoorbehindherandsealingthesilenceinside.Itwouldstillbethereattheendoftheday,waitingforher,tolullherofftosleep.

Buttheend ofthedaywashoursandhoursandhoursandhoursandhours fromnow.Shecouldn'tevenconceiveoftheday'send,notwhenthesunhadbarelyyetbrokentheeasternsky,andherfriendshadnotyetarrived,andtheyhadnotmarchedroundtheendlessworldanddoneamillionthings.Whentheyhadnotyettracedtheorchard'srows,hidingbetweenthemoments,searchingforthespotwherethesunstoodstillandeverydaywasthesameastheonebeforeandtheoneafter.Whenthehotbrushofwindontheircoatsdrewouttheirsweatandmeltedtheroughedgesfromthehours,blendingthem,untilmorningandnoonandeveningandnightwereallonememorywithnobeginningtheycouldrememberandnoendtheycouldforesee.Aday–aseason–definedbythesinglethreadthatstitchedthemtogether,thatranthroughthemasthesunrunsthroughthesky:

theboundlessjoythatwasthebreathintheirlungsandthestrengthintheirlimbsandcarriedthemupandoutanddown,downtheendlesspathsofsummer,allofitwaitingjustbeyondherdoor.

“It'ssummer,”shesaidagain,loudernow.Shegrinned,andthestairscreakedbeneathherhoovesasshegallopeddownthemandoutthefarmhousedoor.

“It'ssummer!

”sheshoutedontheporch,startlingacoveyofdovesroostingonthelawn.Shelaughedastheyfilledtheair,andshechasedthemacrossthegrass,downthedirtpathleadingoutthearchedgate,intotheendlessrowsofappletreesbeyond.Throughthemistyorchardssherode,untilherlegsachedandherchestburned,andallthewhileshecouldnotstopgrinninglikeamadmare.

“AJ!

”sheyelled,burstingintoaclearingwherehersistersetoutrowsofemptybaskets.“It'ssummer!

”ShewasgonebeforeApplejackcouldreply.

Sheranagain,vaultingasmallstreamthatmeanderedthroughthetreeslikeatiredsnake.Themuddybankssquelchedbeneathherhoovesasshelanded,andshestoppedlongenoughtostompinthemuckafewextratimes,justbecauseitwassummer,andshecould,andtherewerenoschooldeskstositatorMissCheerileetoscoldherforbeingdirtyorstupidDiamondTiarastomakefunofherbow.Abow,sherealized,thatshewasn'tevenwearing–itwasstillbackinherbedroom,keepingwatchoverthesilence,wrappingrounditlikeagiftforherreturn.

AppleBloomgrinnedandjumpedintothemudagain,splashingitallupherlegsandoverherbelly.Itfeltwonderful.

“It'ssummer!

Ha!

”sheyelledattherustlingtrees.Andthensheransomemore.

Bythetimeshereachedtheedgeoftheorchards,wherethedirtpathbecameatrueroadleadingdownthewaytoPonyville,shewasexhausted.Strandsofhermaneplasteredthemselvesagainstherstickycoat,herlegsshook,andherbreathwastheloudestsoundonallthefarm.

Andshecouldn'tstopsmiling.

Shewasn'tquitesurewhattimeitwas.Clock-time,thatis–sheknewitwasaboutthirtyminutespastsunrise,andinanotherhourthesunwouldbewellclearofthetrees,andjuststandingoutsideinitsrayswouldburnthesweatfromhercoatandsendherscurryingforwaterorshade.Inthesummer,thesunstayedupforever,andlunchwasforeverfaraway,anddinnerforeverfurther.Thesunwas thesummer,andsheworshipeditbecauseshelovedtheprincesslikeagoodlittlefilly,butmostlybecausethesunwassummerandsummerwasfreedomandohCelestiahowshelovedthat.

Applejackwasn'taroundtostopher,soshedroppedtothegroundandrolledaroundinthedirt,kickingupgreatcloudsofdustthatclungtohercoat,turningherduntomatchthemudonherlegsandbelly,easingtheitchofdryingsweatandticklinghernose.Shesneezedafewtimesandlaughedatthecloudofdustitproduced.

Timepassed,andshewastedit,loungingonthedirtroad.Backonthefarm,wastingtimewasacrime–ifApplejackorGrannycaughtherdoingnothing,she'dhaveanotherday'sworthofchoresdroppedonhershouldersinaflash.Bu

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