One of the most potent human pleasures is sitting outside, en puro sol, preferably on a warmed rock wall above a body of water, and eating ice cream, preferably on a cone to preserve that childish summer delight of holding a treat by hand instead of using utensils/plates/napkins (and probably, sitting at a table rather than that warmed rock wall above water).

There it is: sun warming the top of your head, wall heating your thighs from below, peanut butter ice cream softening in the heat and cooling your tongue with each lick, the water cerulean and glittering beneath your feet which—I hope—you are kicking back and forth against the wall, back and forth like playground swings, heels making satisfying contact that zooms each foot forward again, looking like the happiest six-year-old that you, in this moment, are.