I have to admit, summer has never quite been my favourite season. Sweating in stuffy classrooms and seminars that my legs started sticking to the plastic chair. Sunscreen melting off my face, and the sunburn that followed. Everything is dry and cracked.
Lately, though, I’ve been warming up to the season, and not because of global warming, rather, despite of it.
The insects are whizzing about, the hedge in front of our house is lush and green and creating the perfect hideout for the first coffee of the day, sitting barefoot on our front stairs and letting the morning sun shine on my nose.
Burying my toes into the wet sand of the Baltic Sea for the first time in ages. The wheat fields slowly turning golden, each time a little more as I pass by. Wearing my sunglasses and my bucket hat any chance I get. My aunt laughing because, once again, her old blouse from the 80s makes its reappearance at her birthday party since it’s one of my favourite things to wear. (She bought it way back when she visited Cairo with my great-grandmother. It was supposed to get retired as a painting frock but I decided I liked it way too much.)
Water and the shade of tall trees. Laying in the grass and watching the clouds pass by. Celebrating life with a white wine on a picknick blanket while watching the sun set, just like in uni times. Listening to the LP of Gloria Estefan with an open door as the summer rain falls outside.
It’s a gentle heat.
