I find the concept of Summer Me rather fascinating. I have a Summer Me. Actually, I have a June Me, a July Me, and—you've guessed right—an August Me. The weather is to praise or blame.

June is the crisp, fresh summer when I'm full of zest. I crush the lemons and oranges in my lemonade like a zealot even with the soggy paper straw. You know, there are these overpriced coffee shop lemonades which are just syrup and seltzer and some slices of citrus fruit to boot. I may look stupid killing those citruses but I need to squash some real flavour into my beverage.

July is the hotheaded summer month. I don't even venture out for a lemonade. I do venture out to a body of water to prevent my own body from overheating.

I love August. Time slows down. Each day holds some kind of adventure or serendipity. I just love to take a plunge into August. I'm full of hope for this month. Maybe I'll even continue my crusade against orange slices.

August has my heart. (The veins form a heart on the tiny leaf.)

📷: my photo