Doesn't it seem odd that the longest day of the year comes right at the beginning of summer? Then you spend the rest of the season under the threat of increasing darkness. Winter, as they say, is coming.
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.
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.
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