Summertime,
I think, is a collective unconscious.
We all remember the notes to the ice cream man;
we all know what it feels like to brand our thighs on a playground slide that's heated up like a knife in a fire; we all have lain on our backs with our eyes closed and our hearts beating across the surface of our lids, hoping that each day will strech just a little longer than the last one, when in fact it's all going in the other direction.
-My Sister's Keeper