And yet, those wild summer nights, getting longer and hotter: don't they just stir something in the blood? Some primal urge, some sense of living it up in the face of looming mortality?
Where I grew up, in New England, the summers were painfully short and the nights were deliciously long. Oh, the mischief! Fireflies, sunburns, kisses, warm grass. Oh, the memories... Summer days, summer nights, summer loving.