Summer...for many years meant swimming in a crystal freshwater lake in Maine. Hearing the water lapping along the rocky shore at night, and the loons calling and diving. Hearing the leaves rustle through thrown open wide windows, and the moths beating against the screens. 'Summer's lease hath all too short a date', so saith Shakespeare. And in Maine, this is true.
Summer, as a kid, meant swimming at the pool. Which I did all day until my fngertips turned wrinkly and my lips turned blue.
As a working woman, I took my one of my two weeks of vacation up in Lubec, Maine. Remote, quiet, I rented a cottage by the cove and watched the tides go in and out. It was all I needed.
Summer is simply simple pleasures, ones we are unfortunately too busy to indulge in during the rest of the year. We are so busy with important stuff, I wonder when the time will come when we realize the the important stuff IS the simple pleasures?