I can feel it on my skin, the tantalizing, life-giving heat from the sun above me. My skin dries, burns, blisters, reflecting my mind much more than seldom-spoken words or actions could ever hope to achieve. I watch the red peel, revealing darkened skin below, and it amuses me. My anger, much like my skin, burns and blisters my soul, leaving behind a darker and darker stain each time I feel it, ignore it, and refuse to let it heal. As the angry, hot, summer sun burns down on me, I long for the cool winds of winter, the calming snow and the healing memories of better days.