Ice Cream on the Cliff

        I love to eat ice cream. Most people associate it with a hot, sunny summer’s day. I, however, enjoy mine on a cool summer’s night. I remember when I was young, I would occasionally go out for ice cream at night with my father. We would drive up from the lonely ice cream shop in town, park at the cliff by the sea, and eat ice cream while gazing up at the stars. I still live near that cliff, even if my father no longer does. I still go up there at the same time, ice cream in hand, and chat with him.

             Oh, I wasn’t being clear? I wasn’t just there same time, I was there same day, same week, same month, same year. Yeah, I don’t know either. I wasn’t that surprised when it happened, though. I went to the cliff, ice cream in hand, and I felt like a kid again. So, it wasn’t that much of a shock when I really was a kid. It felt like I was with father again, and I was. It didn’t really bother me that I was supposed to be 34 years old, or that Dad was supposed to be fertilizer in a big box made of concrete and wood. It didn’t matter. We’re together, and we always will be.

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