Blandly parked in front of my computer as always, I heard a strange and unexpected noise. It was soft, but clearly there. It was some sort of twinkling bells, a magical fairy melody dancing just out of reach. I shook my head, but the noise continued. This was no product of an underused summer brain; the music was real.
Looking out the window, I saw a magical sight that I have never seen on my street before. Big, bright, and beautiful, a large truck pulled smoothly past my house and parked a few doors down. I grabbed my purse from the back of a chair and headed for the door. On second thought, I reached for my camera.
Outside, the neighborhood was already gathering. Kids in swimsuits were lined up and their parents stood nearby to provide the dollar bills. I joined the line and waited (somewhat) patiently, enviously eying the sticky fingers and chocolatey mouths of my neighbors and friends.
Now, I'm not saying that this was the best ice cream I've ever had, but it was just about the perfect thing for the time and place. The day was the kind where you feel like you are cooking in a steamer just walking down the street. The cool ice cream was a lovely antidote to the humidity. This might not have been the Big Gay Ice Cream Truck, but never turn down hand-scooped ice cream right outside your front door. There is something magical about ice cream trucks that no one can deny.