Where am I in this summer of disorientation, of forgetfulness and recovery, of humidity and surprise? Summer smells of sidewalks, wet pavement, morning condensation on blueberries for sale at farmstands, and grass that wets my sandaled feet in the mornings of days that last longer than expected. Days that go from one event to another and save room for one more visit, one more evening ride, sunset stroll, another chapter from this year’s reading list. Take stock of the comings and goings, the entry of friends almost forgotten, the return of faces that accompany only the summer season. Some things belong only to summer— the sweaty bus ride out of the city leaving behind the fumes of tires and soot, open spaces with their flowery scents, salted breezes, shady trees in damp forests, afternoons left wide open to daydreams, to peaches ripe and sweet, cold popsicles on young tongues, iced drinks from frosty pitchers. Arriving in a new season can shock those of us who are still here. Those who wondered if we’d make it past the hurdles, the obstacles, the pitfalls, that preceeded summer’s sneaky entrance, but here beside a body of calm water, the realization hits. We made it through. We’re still here, and surprisingly well, strong, and alive with energy. Not everyone did. The winter and spring took its share of some of us.  Those seasons took something from the heart of us and left us with only memories of companions, of closely cared for beings whose time did not include this summer, who departed before the sun grew bright, the thunder returned, before days elongated, daisies blossomed, and time slowed down. Summer allows us to recover what we miss, discover what remains and cherish what has returned.