Nostalgic Summer Episode. Ema Page

Days began with the warm, sticky hush of morning and the smell of toast. Her mother worked afternoons, leaving the house to Ema and an old radio that kept station on crackle. There were mornings spent at the bakery where Ema sliced day-old baguettes and handed them to stray cats; afternoons at the riverbank where she and her friends tried to build a raft out of pallets and rope but mostly ended up swatting at mosquitoes and laughing until their stomachs hurt. Nights belonged to the fair that came twice that summer: the garish carnival lights, the wide-eyed cotton candy, Ema’s first time on a Ferris wheel when the town looked like a scatter of coins and the river a black thread.

Ema’s internal monologue in these episodes is poetic but restrained. She doesn't say, "I will miss this." She says, "The shadow of the power lines looks like a piano keyboard today." The viewer is forced to bridge the gap, to project their own lost summers onto her words. nostalgic summer episode. ema