Summer Solstice

It's Summer Solstice and all the British New Agers are stuck in traffic leaving Stonehenge.
We have a summer solstice tradition in my neighborhood, too.
My local Safeway re-decorates with a Western/Cowboy theme for a month each July. I don't know why, just a summer kind of thing.
Speaking of the western/cowboy theme, in Wyoming, where I grew up, summer is like taking a deep breath before winter settles back in. The wind is forever blowing something across the highway; occasionally tumbleweeds, but most of time it's snow.
Snow snow snow. Cold Cold Cold
As a kid, I held onto each non-below-freezing summer day like a squirrel hoarding nuts. I stayed outside as long as possible not only to avoid my mother but for the pure novelty of being outside in a land that is normally inhospitable 9 months out of 12.
I craved summer so much that I moved to the desert southwest.
Sun sun sun. Hot Hot Hot.
So much sun I refered to working on my tan as my part-time job. I had brown legs, blonde hair and a batallion of water bottles in the trunk of my car.

I must have finally gotten my fill of summer down there, because now I live at the end of the Oregon Trail where it's not too hot and not too cold and soggy in between.