There's languor in summer. Yes, it's true that my summer has been, and continues to be, a whirlwind of upheaval, travel, toil, and insects. I feel it anyway: the slow air, the overripe sun, the chubbiness of the days. I'm not sure, after all, that one can can scrub summer of its summeriness. Even when you work through it, try to shrug past it, it gets its grubby fingers on you, leaves a trail.