It hasn't quite set in yet.
Summer.
It feels unreal. Like it should still be thirty degrees outside and snowing, because too little time has passed since the last time it was.
I'm so happy it's finally here.
I love the feeling of the sun all over my skin, kissing me golden; painting my hair the color of the marigolds and sunflowers blooming left and right.
I love dancing barefoot in the hot summer rain in a brightly colored dress, drawing stares from anyone who considers ordinary behavior to be a mandatory ordeal.
I love riding through my neighborhood on my bright red and white bicycle, feeling eight years old again as the warm breeze sings in my ears.
That's what summer is about, isn't it?
Putting everything painful and unhappy behind you. Starting anew.
It brings out the best in me. I feel the only time I am truly at ease is in the months of June, July and August. I feel like the real me.
Squealing as I run barefoot through grass; smiling as I close my eyes and stare at the yellow sun behind my lids; breathing in the sweet smell of the things nature only presents when summer comes along: lilacs, the pavement after it rains, water brought to life only when I disturb its gentle surface.
I love it. All of it. If I could, I would have it be summer all of the time.
Because in the summer, the song sings itself.
