I just stepped out on the balcony into a hot, August night. It’s the sort of evening when Summer wraps itself around you and forces you to acknowledge its perfection. She makes you forget the choking heat of day and bathes you in the smells and sounds of a flawless night. The air is heavy and sweet with moisture, tainted by the faint smell of wood smoke from a neighboring chimnea. Crickets chirp their endless August song, drowning out the steady drone of air conditioners and window fans.
It’s the sort of night we used to dream about as kids who lived by the sea — perfect for bonfires and wiener roasts, for corn boils and midnight swims, for camping out under the stars. Or for simply laying on your back in a field of newly mown hay, staring up into the vast canvas of night sky, pondering time and the Universe.
No bonfire here tonight, but somewhere, this perfect night will create everlasting memories.