Summer is the smell of crushed pine needles, mosquito bites, twigs in my hair, grass stains on their knees, and bath water so black, we need to go buy bleach…
Summer is days that don’t end. It’s almost 11, and the sun has set—sort of—but the sky is still all sorts of shades of blue, and I’m not sure when it will turn black—aha, here, now, look, darkness.
Summer is nights that don’t end. You know what I mean. (I know, I love that too…)
Summer is letting the weed patch bloom while I read six books at the same time.
Summer is scent, everywhere.
Summer is intoxicating. Especially this year, right now.