Summer this time, has been hotter and fiercer than the last four times I have hit April. I am coiled like a spring, shelled up like a pea pod (or an oyster). A mad top spins around me, and I like a patient planet, watch life weave its crazy, random orbit around me, sometimes stepping alarmingly close.

At other moments, the metaphor changes. Instead of a dark inky nothingness, is a brilliant blue sky. And I am the surfer, ducking inexpertly as a huge wave builds momentum and threatens to tower above me. Only, I have chosen to tread in choppy waters, and one wave beaten is neither here nor there.