The sky is blue, the clouds are white, the trees are sighing out of pure pleasure as they bask in the gentle sun.

The smell of warm dirt and foliage stretches out underneath my bedroom window. Summer sighs, pushing cotton clouds across the blue above, their shadows racing across the road like spirited children racing to the park for a picnic. Summer thinks about its neighbor Spring up north. The thought crashes into reality, cooling the air in a rare respite from the thick heat.

Everyone is smiling. I drank too much coffee and I'm talking a little too much, but I'm enjoying the walk home from the store. Today, I don't mind the persistent geriatric curiosity out of the corners of passersby's eyes. Even my wife, days from giving birth and rounder than a bowling ball, feels okay.

Days like these are hard to come by. Today was an inside joke shared between old friends. Today was an apple tree, ripe and red, hanging over the sidewalk for any lucky passerby to enjoy. Days like these are hard to come by.