I've got summer fever and no amount of sweating can wrench it from me.

This time, we're all going to lay on a decrepit old pier near the bonfire, waiting for stars to explode and the world to turn to ash, and when it does, we'll watch it like a sad Indie film at a drive-in screen.

And we'll sit in the road until two fixed-distance sunbursts approach us to challenge our mortality, or God Himself calls us home.

But if we manage to survive until midnight, we'll float in our spiritual high, listening to nothing and drawing it in -- quiet, because we don't use words to speak.

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