No Such Thing As The Perfect Tan

Overcast sky this morning, unlike the way it’s been for about as long as I can remember now. The sun has hung hot and threatening above my head, daring me to challenge its blistering intent, to go outside without a hat if I care to measure myself against it. But I know I’d lose that confrontation. The great heat lamp plugged conspicuously into itself to tan, but shrivel, those of us who might choose the embrace of its essential, but dangerously, scorching, love.
We know the power of love, and we know the foolishness of flirting with the flame. An overcast sky can bring relief, on occasion, from its, otherwise, torrential affection, and the continuing temptation of seeking the perfect tan.