This is very nice, but I’m sorry, where the frak were all you people back in February when the frakin’ snow was blowing over my doorsteps? NOW is when you start coming up with poetry about still winter nights, and ice cracking under your feet, and not being able to feel your fingers when you come in from shoveling. I don’t need poetry about hot, muggy, stifling, brain-exhausting weather—I can walk out my back door for that!
Just a suggestion. Y’all are doin’ great. Carry on.