Where it’s always safe and warm not only because I go to Africa but especially because I wish it so to myself. A metaphor for things that I wish to be long but that ought to be brief, like this lingering summer suspended as an interlude. Because I wouldn’t value much anything that could always be there but I can’t resist the temptation of wishing it was so. I need contrast, perhaps we all do, to appreciate the value of the present that is or will be; yet, it is so hard to let it go, especially when it has been as beautiful as this year just past. I don’t know about this summer and it’s even hard to make assumptions to soothe the uncertainty. Perhaps this is actually a good starting point before boarding a plane.