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.