(or early evening)
Milton is beautiful, my bed is beautiful, those pineapple pajama pants are beautiful - the heat, on the other hand, is not beautiful. I feel like I am boiling in my own skin; not to mention the mosquito bites dotting the length of my legs, begging to be scratched obsessively. I would be rather angry with summer if I hadn't been having such a wonderful time since it's official arrival - which was not too long ago, I might add. But, the nights are wonderful. Once the sun goes down the heat is not nearly as suffocating, and one can breathe more easily, soaking up the wonderful words of Mr. Milton himself.
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