The words and tune to this old song float through my brain.  Summer.  Early morning yoga, coffee, horses fed, flowers watered, a lazy lunch:  salad with feta, black beans with caramelized onions.  Slouched, reading a book (The Return, Hasham Matar) on the sofa, feet crossed on edge of coffee table, patio doors open, I hear birdsong, the whir of black fans in the ceiling sea of white.  Summer. Nap time.  Awaken slowly, eyes watching cotton candy clouds barely move across an azure sky.  Summer.