But I am NOT wearing a swimsuit yet.

There are many good things about Florida. Summer is not one of them. A Florida summer grabs you by the breath and the lungs as you step outside and crams itself into your nose and airways and ears and hair and shoes and the small of your back, which will be soaked in sweat before you make it the six steps to your car at 9 a.m. It wraps you in a thick wet wool blanket pulled down over your face and doesn't let go till December. If you're lucky.

It makes you want to cut your hair.

Do you SEE what I mean?

Some people who grew up in Florida don't even notice, of course. To you I say Brava. To you I also say See ya in March.

A New York summer approaches, and with it many sundry Happinesses. It's a big change from Florida summers, for sure: you look forward to it. People actually take vacations, and not just cos their kids are out of school. Local vacations. To the lake or the mountains. Even the lake IN the mountains. Yes, lakes in the mountains in the summertime. They're just that good. Cabins and cottages and "camp" when it means "lots of houses by the lake."

This is where those Country Time Lemonade ads happen. I want a bike.

(The nature of my magic will likely mean that I am ruining this summer by paying it early tribute, but a life lived in fear is a life half lived, so fie on thee, Fates. And send me a sandwich, would you?)

Here, summer waits gently for you to open your door and step outside, a lithe blue-gold fairy the color of sunshine, all swathed in modulating green. She invites you to have ice cream and barbecues and lie in the sun not for the tanning but to float in this almost dream world. There are trails to be hiked and water to be boated and bluegreen nights to laugh in and fireflies to watch while frogs peep and crickets sing. Golden golden air to breathe deeply as it nourishes you from the inside out. It revives your soul and reminds you why you came to this Earth.

And you get to wear pretty skirts, too.