This morning is one of those the house is colder than outside mornings. I went to my neighbors for our usual Monday language lesson wearing a sweatshirt. The day is so warm the sweatshirt came off and we sat outside in the sun. A wonderfully cooling breeze is blowing. It’s a pretty day.

I am still amazed by Cape Cod. In the warm days of late spring, the wild roses in whites and reds are everywhere. They grow on the edges of fields and woods and in front of old captains’ houses. I have one which has grown up the trunk of a tall tree. My wild rose bushes have no shape but grow willy nilly, wild and tall.

The cape has several old seafarers’ houses each marked with a plaque in front with a clipper ship and a date on it. Those captains’ houses are mostly half capes with sloping roofs. Their shingles are gray and weathered by years of wind and salt.

The early morning air sometimes smells of the ocean even this far away. On those mornings, I linger on the deck. When I cross the bridge over the river on a morning errand, I sometimes see fog spread across the water and quahoggers outlined in the mist.

The warmth of June has brought gardens filled with color. Short white picket fences stand behind them like sentinels. Some houses have carefully tended lawns while there are others with shards of shells in front mimicking a lawn. Pine needles spread across the front yards are lawn stand-ins especially at seasonal rentals. It seems we always have a breeze, mostly from the south. The nights are beautiful, bright and starlit. They perfectly complement the loveliness of the days. I always think how lucky I am to live here.

I remember spring when I was a kid and shedding my winter coat and riding on my bike to school, but it is always summer I remember the best in my hometown. The heat seemed to rise from the roads and the sidewalks. It rose in waves, and I swear I could see it though now I expect I saw a mirage. Summer days were never quiet. The insects made the most noise. Kids were always outside. The degree of heat dictated the amount of activity. Really hot days meant sitting under a tree in the only shade around. Cooler days meant bikes and roller skates and games of tag. My mother always kept a cold drink in her aluminum pitcher in the fridge. Dinner was light on those hot nights. We even could keep playing after dinner. Street lights were no longer alerts to go home. Late June and the coming of summer were celebrations when I was a kid.