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.