“And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.”
~ F. Scott Fitzgerald
Summer has always had a quiet pull on me. The way it lingers.. not just in light or heat, but in memory. There’s the wild weight of ocean waves crashing over smooth stones. The hush of a porch overlooking water, holding early sun and long shadows. And a child, mid-leap, suspended in the joy of a summer street sprinkler; light and motion frozen together. Each one is a moment held carefully. They remind me that summer isn’t always about color and noise—it can be soft, interior, solitary.