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Warm summer morning

  

 There’s nothing like a warm summer morning, filled with haze and sunshine.  While I sometimes curse the fact that I’ve tossed and turned all night in heat that wraps itself around you and won’t let go, I simultaneously feel afoul the very moment I see summer slip slightly toward cooler weather.  How is it possible that summers of youth last many more months than summers of a later age?  The days pass much more quickly than those days when I frolicked into the evening hours, counting the fireflies that lit my way into night.  Now, a summer seems as quick to pass as that fireflies momentary light.  On and then off.  Bright and then dimming, onward to the next season.

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