Seems it was only a matter of time. The words written in the sand erased by the incoming tide. Another summer gradually swept away, one frothy white wash after another. The sun flees beyond the horizon, the smell of waffle-cone still on my fingers.
What better time to be alive than summer? Injuries, illness, isolation, mortality would all feel worse in the cold. Blue skies, warm nights, cell-shredding UV rays, a gush of tennis and cricket that never feels like it's going to relent. Have a drink, dunk yourself in the salt water, (both), the mere angle of the planet justifies it. It might make you feel better for a while.
Some summer days I think back to my youth and wonder if it's me or the world that's changed. Didn't I used to throw open the house to a warm night air? Where did all these bugs come from? Are there less pools in the world now, or are they on the other side of the fence for my subdivided generation? Has the sun always been this disgruntled? Was the ocean always so full of stingers?
Why do the once never-ending days feel so short?
Looking forward to wearing hoodies again though.
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