Green grass under my feet, warm winds swirling about my head, making my hair dance. Lightning bugs. Daylight extending into evening, cicadas, all the flowers in bloom with bumblebees and honeybees and tough but harmless carpenter bees swirling about. Memories of previous Julys spent helping in the garden, digging in the sand at the beach, hanging laundry on clotheslines in the backyard. The feel of heat as a blanket wrapped around the body. The toes never get chilled. The fingers never feel like ice. Socks are not even a thought. Clothing is one layer, not twelve. Fall and winter are distant, disruptive thoughts. July is memory of warmth as the sun smiles at you from two feet away.