It’s summer.

I just got back inside, on the walk here there was just enough nighttime light to see the clouds swirling. My open windows were letting the wind blow around the sheers that I have instead of curtains, and even though they’re closed now, I can tell from the intermittent flashes outside that we’re about to have one hell of a beautiful thunderstorm.

Of course, I’m sure sometime in my future I’ll look back and pity myself for not having a beautiful somebody to dance with on the deck during this storm, but for now I’m completely content to just savor it and enjoy it all by myself.

And once it starts pouring, I’m gonna go get those dozen lemons and limes I just bought and squeeze them into my big lemonade pitcher until my hands ache and my fingers are sticky and pulpy and this whole place is heavy with the pungence of citrus. I’m pretty sure that I’ll be drinking the lemonade before I’ve even washed my hands clean. I love summer, and it’s times like this that I remember that New York City damn near invented summertime.

The skies just opened up.[Want some lemonade](javascript:viewComments(4027642))? ( echo commentCount(4027642); ?>)