“Summer strums the loose low chords of freedom. Release yourself into the sky and feel, for a moment: there’s time. The faded smell of grill smoke and sunscreen in the air. The buttery spread of stars in the air. The oak leaves touching oak leaves on branches in the air. We have the rest of the year to hurry.”
The Start of Summer - The Paris Review
Let’s return to the screen door slamming, bare feet on the porch floor, peach juice sticky on the chin, sun on the back of your neck. You can return to a time of more time.
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