The entirety of my thoughtful ignorance is recorded here.


Sugar cookie sand. Sticky lemonade. Lollipop umbrellas. And those big bug-eye sunglasses. I love summer. I love it very, very much. It's a special feeling to wake up from your nap and realize that the only worry on your mind is trapped in the plot of your little sun-faded book, distant and fantastic. Or that your only fear is missing the last ferry out before sundown. Boo-hoo. No other time of the year is so effortless. So free.

And so, I love summer. How could I not?

I went to the beach this past weekend. I can't ever remember finding such peace in such a long time. The surf was soft and gentle, a slow roil and rumble in a manner only the East Coast would know. The seagulls were quiet, finding themselves out of things to say for once. The sand was warm and luxurious underneath our damp and salty towels. It was healing. It was forgiveness. An apology accepted.

We tore into watermelons like barbarians, sprinkled and dashed with salt and sand. We carelessly left out grapefruit to blister in the sun and ate those too. Grilled vegetables. Pasta salad. It was delicious for no other reason than our appreciation for the simplicity of the food on a hot afternoon. No mercy was afforded on these shores.

And for dessert, some water and some color, as the intense afternoon sun seared our poor, pale flanks out of their urban misery. 

I didn't always like summer. I thought it listless, pointless, a lethargy that needed to be treated. But I now almost wonder if I was the sick one. Consider me healed.