Windswept clouds are floating over the Arava again. Tiny, tousled spots of whipped cream, smeared paint on a blue sheet, squirted soapy leather. Waves roll across the surface of the sky as if I were looking at the sea, a sailing ship may soar along any minute stretching her masts elegantly. This summery scene captivates and mesmerizes me because this is summer, this is the real summer, when barren fields give way to the living and the empty sky that has nothing to offer is filled again with spectacle. The winds of spring blow through the branches of trees, sway the leaves, and the dance of clouds lingers on the mirror of puddles after a sudden rain. I jump right in with two feet and I’m not sorry, this moment of youthful vagaries dazes and entrances me, propels me through the day. The trees nod at me, the dusk is gentle, this is winter here, and my heart is struggling to understand that this is in fact summer, the time for taking long walks and enjoying the sunshine, for watching clouds float across the sky and planting flowers. Because for me, summer will always be the time of freedom, when nature is friendly and won’t keep you inside four walls. The world opens up, pink ribbons curl in the glow of the setting sun and I am carried by the wind.