It's July. Grass is green and trees are embellished with leaves. Deserts are dry. Rivers and river beds alike, flow and snake under the sun. Heat rises, clouds float in an endless sea of blue, shade is adored, and I am more myself than I've ever been, I think. I've survived to the summertime.
To you, the reader, the listener, you may or may not even question why my survival is something to make note of.
Let me tell you.
