the light of summer nights

Last night was the first of those great summer nights. Where it's warm enough to run around in the grass barefoot but not so hot that it's unbearable. 9 days away from the summer solstice and the sun doesn't go down till late. The latitude I live at makes the light so magical on these kinds of nights. It gives everything a soft yellowy glow that softens visual perception, making things look relaxed and inviting rather than the suffering swelter the world looks through the blindingly bright noonday sun. It's nights like these that I could spend hours outside, near the river watching that precious light play on the water, or on a hilltop looking west towards an explosion of pink, yellow, purple, orange and blue as the sun goes down, the whole sky visible because no mountains block the path the light makes to the earth. And in the summer it's almost a guarantee that this kind of sunset will greet you every night. I live in a basin, a desert basin brought to life by a mighty river. Some scoff at our idea of natural beauty because it isn't green and lush. But it's nights like these in the summer, when, seen in the best light, nothing looks more beautiful to me.