There’s just something about Summer nights. They hold a kind of hope, far unsurpassed by any other season. Spring has a hint of this kind of hope. Winter holds it deep in its breast. Fall is etched frosted hope.
But there’s just something about Summer nights. They hold a special kind of hope.
You breathe in the air of this Summer’s night and hope fills your lungs. The warmth, nay, the hotness, even in the darkness, caresses your body in droplets of water cleansing from your pores.
The water of life springs forth and drips into this reality. We feel hope glowing on our skin. Knowing the Sun will rise high and hold our hands. Knowing our free bare feet, in peace, are right upon the Earth.
The Summer hope needs no layers from the cold wonder, or ifs, or reflection — it just is. It’s just there in our nostrils. It’s just there on our skin. It falls from the sky, so filled, that it must land upon our land, bursting from hopey clouds.
