That warm glow on your back. The soothing splash of an afternoon dip. The insatiable hunger for more warmth, more sunlight, more sand nestled in the nooks and crannies of one’s body only summer can find.
Ugh. Hate it.
I just can’t wait for winter. Sorry to douse the fire of this waning season, but a Vancouver summer just isn’t for me. It’s no Caribbean here, no Coastal California, no Cuba. Woah, all the hot spots start with c. That’s crazy, cuckoo, cockney, criminal! And you know what, all the cold places start with i. Bear with my nonsense, please. Please! Iceland, Iqaluit, Ireland (it’s a stretch, I know). It’s basically the coldest letter of them all. That’s why the tribble (the dot over the i) broke off. The whole letter’s an iceberg and the tribble broke away, pushing grammar climatologists to challenge the world over textual climate change. I see that you bore with my nonsense. Well done. It’s quite a lot of nonsense to bear with. It’s like the Great Pacific Garbage Patch of nonsense.