The best of August is not the sun, the heat and the (overloaded) beaches of Algarve.
The best of summer are the long days, when the sun lasts longer and delays us with the feet on the sand, the light clothing and spirit and the joy of a never-ending light.
Even better is to be able to return to the origins, to our places, family and friends and the tightest hugs, warding off any winter within us.
And, taking the risk of falling in the weariness of repetition, better than meeting new faces and new stories, it is always to review the ones we are already know, those who are already our own history, written with wide spaces in different places, at different times, when children have grown up, when dreams are different, but the joy of living is always the same.
We play, we laugh, we collaborate in some thousand antics, we review faces and families, friends, we share new stories and kill the homesickness from the voices and smiles.
These days have been like this and, perhaps too entertained, we barely noticed the time passing by.
It seems like just yesterday we were eating (thwarted) the 12 raisins and toasted to the arrival of the new year, even more yesterday we celebrated the christening of little Francisca, the day when we met this amazing family and where we knew, from the first moment, that it would feel very little like work to spend a late afternoon with them, like this.
From Qatar, that whole new world, to Terra, this place of stories and love, a place with no place but with a permanent place in the best place within us.
Like so we kill homesickness and tell stories.
Like so a late afternoon passes by, an afternoon that we, too, remember (already with nostalgia):