Bring on that blistering light at high noon, I don't mind. Bring on harsh shadows, off the scale retina searing contrast and raccoon eyes; I'll shoot through it. And I'll bask in skin killing rays, barefoot and eyes closed, dreaming of desert roads and California.
We're setting up lawn chairs, cleaning up the deck, firing up the grill. We're cramming two months of an interrupted spring into a single day. Our blood thinning and flowing again.
It's about frickin' time.