It is a night in July and the air conditioner is roaring, dripping into a plastic cat food dish. The paint-crusted windows are stuck, and I have a sudden urge to stand on the roof. The grass is soft as a magic carpet! The electric fans are like angels waving their arms around me, but I want to wander the grassy meadows and wave my arms with the fireflies. I want to start a fire in the open skies and let joy drip into my heart like grease dripping from a campfire-roasted hot dog. My summer soul is sticky with marshmallows. I can’t sleep! I wish I had a boat!

The night is too sweet for hymns. Dressed in short shorts and an oversized Dora the Explorer shirt, I waltz barefoot down the street, until the dance is dancing me, until the apple trees and the stars and the fireflies and mosquitos swirl around a center that is partly me, and partly the juicy blackberry deep inside the night. I can see Neptune and Pluto without a telescope. I know this precious world will be gone tomorrow, maybe sooner, but I am a dancer and I have found God.