Summer is the season you remember.
Who remembers winter, really? Unless there was a blizzard, and you got into a fight over the legality of whether two wobbly kitchen chairs and a broom constitute a reserved parking space, in which case you'd rather forget winter anyway.
Spring is fine, especially when you catch an unexpected whiff of lilac on a soft breeze. And autumn is spectacular, until those golden maple leaves lose their brilliance and clog your gutters.
But summer is the season that creates warm memories. And that season begins tonight, unofficially.
Summer provides the memory of chasing fireflies with your cousins, at an hour so late that - were it a school night - you'd be in bed. It provides the memory of languishing for hours in the family station wagon until finally, you traveled over a rise and glimpsed the ocean sparkling on the horizon.
First kisses happen in summer, and don't think your parents don't know it. Unfortunately, the first cigarette lurks in summer, too.
Summer gives us bounty, and asks only that we enjoy. Fresh tomatoes and peaches, corn on the cob, steamed clams - summer's menu makes the rest of the year seem like it took place inside a black-and-white television.
Summer is here. Go off-line and go outdoors. Dip your bare feet in a cool fountain. Watch a movie, under the stars, on the banks of the Schuylkill. Walk, and think about that $4 gasoline you're not buying.
Let the crickets be louder than you. Get caught in the rain.