The time approaches for summer breezes through the windows, bottles of Bordeaux, grilled food, dark chocolate with Chile's' (my new indulgence). It's easier to be poor in the summer, easier to hold at bay the sorrows of the cold. I was not meant for bundles or layers, for heavy shoes, for expensive winter activities. I was born golden into greens and blues and the lift of air and the sunshine. Of dark summer nights and the symphony of its shadows. This is were hope finds grace.

The boys run barefoot through the yard to dig and climb. Their legs bruised and browned and scratched from adventures. Ice cream drips from their chins, grass stains accumulate on their knees, they are free. Soon it will be hot enough to take them to the shore where they will stand at the edge of the ocean and believe in futures. Their toes sliding beneath the surf where grains of sand will wash over them.