Goodness gracious, what on earth has Widget managed to capture in this jar?!
...perhaps it’s the scent of your sparkler-bitten fingers, smelling of gunpowder and almost-blood, and the taste of sweat licked off your upper lip, and said singed fingers, stuck in your mouth to soothe their sting. The sight of a darkened field filled with fireflies, winking through the night, and flickering in your hole-poked mayonnaise jar like glimmering constellations trapped between your hands. The sound of the pattering flicker of playing cards clothes-pinned to bicycle spokes, and the exhilarated screams filling a carnival midway. The prickly almost-burned tingle of hands that clutched the rope swing over the river, cooled by muddy water and a resounding splash, and the electric ozone air before a thunderstorm, and the subtly sudden beginning, with hot raindrops warming and cooling your skin at the same time.
I think Widget has managed to bottle Summer.
