I dread summer.

I hate what it does to my hair. Forget pomades; they just weigh it down. It looks greasy. What I really need is a haircut. But I don’t have a stylist I trust, because I just moved.

And by the way, there are now about 15 hours of daylight. It’s insane that the sun rises at 6:00 a.m. That is just too much of a good thing. It really is. Thank God I have black-out blinds in the bedroom, or I might lose my mind. Is it weird that I drink two cups of coffee in the morning, in complete darkness, while the rest of the world is running around in all that daylight? Maybe. But I don’t care.

I need to slowly ease in the long, hot days filled with too much light. I can exist like a mole in the darkness, with the AC blasting. I’m certainly not a fan of the beach, or getting dressed up only to have my makeup run down my face, because I’m sweating so much. People ask me to meet them for early cocktails, and I think to myself; you must be crazy. At 6:00 p.m. the city is still a furnace. I’ll stay home, thank you, braid my too long hair, and if necessary, put on a straw hat, and go out for the occasional iced coffee.

I’ve just been through an emotionally turbulent time; big, sweeping changes, the kind that leave you stunned, concussed. I have insomnia, and no matter how much I cajole and coax myself, I will not resume my routine of yoga and meditation. I also have this inner monologue about all the things that are wrong with my life, and what I need to fix, because so much is broken.

But, I have found a reset, by walking along the river, and timing it exactly to nautical twilight. It’s the second phase of twilight; the sun has set, the stars are out, yet the horizon is still clearly visible. The sky is deep violet, neither day nor night.

Once I’m at the river, it doesn’t take long for two egrets to arrive. Their timing is perfect, too. They swoop in low over the water like ghosts in the strange half light. One is much smaller, so I’ve made up a story about them — the mother egret is teaching the baby how to survive.

Bats come out and flit amongst the canopy of trees, and fly perilously close to me, but I’m not afraid. I like to stand at the bank of the river, and listen to the sound of water rushing over stones. I like how the trees stand in silhouette against the violet sky; I like the golden light coming from the windows of people’s homes. The moon comes out, the stars shine brighter. I feel like I’m home. It feels like magic. I’m finally me