what a simple pleasure, to have soft grass to take meals on. at night, to hear crickets while sitting on a porch swing, bones still singing their warmth from the day. collecting apples, scattered in their early rotten-ness under the tree, to entice the greedy goats. sharing a coconut popsicle while the laundry dries, swinging from a tree, watching the sunset explain itself to the clouds. summer, how we love thee. (and oh, how your absence is sorely noted in san francisco).