Summer has always seemed to me the season in which our bodies make their presence most known to us. The swamp of sweat cinched by the elastic of my bralette. Our skin, exposed, in turn exposes our porousness to the world: the vulnerability to mosquito bites and the sun, and though my husband suffers from both, I myself don’t mind. In the summer, we can mark the time passing by the amount of daylight our bodies soak in.
