Color Of Joy
By John R. Greenwood
The color of joy explodes into the summer night, spreading popcorn smells and roller coaster sounds like an ocean wave over the wide-eyed children below. Brand new mothers with brand new babies tucked in tiny wheeled strollers weave through smiling masses. Tuckered mothers with grade school jumping beans dole out $5's as if pulling kleenex from a brand new box. Dad with his worn baseball hat and rock-band t-shirt ignores the electrified child tugging at his arm--begging for one more ride before they leave. Grandmothers wipe dripping ice cream from the pudgy hands of toddlers, leaving remnants of the cheap white napkin stuck between their little pink fingers. The air is alive with carnival music and the shrills of teenage girls hovering in darkness above.
As the evening dwindles, tired men on hour 16 of their day, lean and sneak a Marlboro. Another day has come to a close. This is the sweetness of summer, the color of joy.