This thought has been swimming in my brain a while, put off for seeking eloquence, a better way of saying it, and yet if this be my last year (or the next one, or the next), time is of the essence then and bold or silly, let the words come out.
Suck the stick.
The sweet iciness of a popsicle–think about it now; the fulfillment of the senses, answering to heat and appetite and its prettiness of color, its smoothness running through your lips, and though my favorite is the blue, the scent of cherries that halos around the pink. It freezes the tongue that lovingly wraps around its twin obelisks even as it feeds the need for cold and flavorful pleasures. If one is quick enough, no melting will occur but in the mouth, no droplets wasted on the sidewalk or in the case of caution, in a napkin wrapped around the wooden sticks like mother taught to do.
Taste its flavor, feel its satisfying and refreshing coolness, risk the brain-freeze and the pain for what its worth.
And while the idea wrinkles noses, experience the core of it as well, for it is just a different flavor and without it there could be no enjoyment of the icy goodness either; go ahead and suck the flavor from the wooden stick.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology
I see what you’re saying here – nice metaphor – but I NEVER suck the popsicle stick because I think the taste of the wood spoils the rest of the experience.
Further proof that when writing, you’re never going to please everyone…
Very true. I’m not sure why I’ve always done it, but have gotten used to the wooden taste and come to accept it as a part of the deal–maybe my religious upbringing by the nuns!