At day’s end, as the sun sank behind the hills, I felt as though I were tucking all these flavors into a small valise inside my heart. I nestled the sweetness of orchard fruit, the smoky tang of seaside grills, the charred edges of mountain fare, and the briny kiss of roasted salt—each taste a souvenir of love and belonging.
Even now, whenever I recall these moments, a subtle tremor runs through me, as though I am hearing the gentle notes of that childhood melody all over again. And maybe that is what summer has always tried to tell me—that there is no greater luxury than the simple truths of home, and no deeper grace than the quiet affection that endures, season after season, in the most ordinary of miracles.