I will probably regret that I said this, come winter, when temps drop down to the teens and the wind chill factor plays its media induced scary role, but I can’t take the humidity. I feel as gamey as the deer that have just eaten all my hydrangeas, their saliva still shiny on the leaves. And though some love it, I’m not fond of central air-conditioning, and the vast change in body temperature when moving from outdoors to in, which in my house, thanks to a guy who once lived in Miami, is like Antarctica. So, as though it were mid-winter, not the middle of July (already?) I am bundled in fleece, under the covers, midday, listening to the rhythms of the freon pumping machine thinking of gathering some logs, a bag of marshmellows, of course chocolate, and having a little bonfire. But that’s just me.