My lost frequency...

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. The first week of July hangs at the very top of summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning. The weeks that come before are only a climb from balmy spring, and those that follow a drop to the chill of autumn. It is curiously silent, too, with blank white dawns and glaring noons, and sunsets smeared with too much colour. But then fall comes, kicking summer out on its treacherous ass as it always does, and then it stays awhile like an old friend that you have missed. It settles into your favourite chair and fills the afternoon with stories of places and things and it feels as if nothing had changed at all.