The word "summer" connotes a medley of sweet sensations for everyone. We all seem to understand eating strawberries on the porch. We all seem to know sweet tea in mason jars. We all seem to smile at the memory of watermelon stains on our white, sweaty shirts. We all love the smell of cut grass (though not necessarily the cutting of grass), the ever abundant green outside the window, the tangled hair from beach wind, and of course, the kiss of sun. And with all this is the fondness of reading a good book in the bed of an air conditioned house, homemade ice cream which tastes just as good indoors as it does when in melts in your bowl outside, and whipped cream. Always a fondness for whipped cream.
Every year when September comes through my door (yes, it comes straight through; it never knocks) I always feel as though I never got enough of summer. We are good pals, Summer and I. You see, I am a July baby, and while I do love every day of every season, I have a special connection to the mugginess and the green and the closeness of the sun's heat and light. And I am always sad to see it leave, even though I know it will soon return. I love winter, I love spring, I love autumn, but to me, they are always transitions to get me to summer - a destination of sorts. Which is true when one has the mindset of a student. I don't care what you say, summer is a destination.
In heaven, it will always be summer, and it will never be hot.