The summer days of my childhood sometimes play in my mind like a long, old movie. I can still see the shine of the sun off of the chrome on my handlebars, my streamers flapping from the side of the handles, and I feel the light pink from the day kissing my shoulders. I spent many afternoons capping my days of rollerskating and making hopscotch with chalk by running through the sprinkler. Some afternoons were swinging in a hammock, or climbing up into a fort to read a book. I loved a good cup of lemonade. Friends of mine swapped cards and played jacks or skipped rope. We’d move from house to house and make it through the day playing games to occupy our days of summer. Of all of these games of the past, there are some things that have transcended. One of those is the almighty activity of blowing bubbles. This piece pays tribute to the fun of setting flight to iridescent magic. Those majestic orbs may have only floated for a brief second or two, while others seemed to take to the sky for an oversea adventure, but they held wishes, and dreams, and kept us captivated. I see the same marvel and joy today in my own children that I felt within myself when I held the little bottle of joy myself and would hope that it would never empty. Bubbles is a piece about hopes and dreams, may they never be empty, and never find an end to their flight.