It’s green out still. Muggy. It reminds me of Virginia, my childhood. Where it wasn’t really summer until you couldn’t move. That was summer. Humid. Hot. Slow.

I loved it then: running barefoot til your feet were tough. And playing endlessly in the huge sand pile. Whole worlds would be created. Come alive. In the shade, the sand was cool under foot. And if you dug down just a bit you got the damper dirt that could be formed and shaped so that small trucks and cars and animals made tracks: you could design the landscape and then move through it.

Hours and hours of hot summer nothing time. No sense of next, no sense of a larger world. Summer that existed now. And now. And now.

It’s August now. Summer is most poignant now. Still green now.