Carly Wanner-Hyde

Apollo's Daughter

In my life, I have gathered that there are years where summer is a bright afternoon, stretching her paws in patches of sunlight, full of sliced oranges and floating breezes and sweet honey. And there are years where summer feels like deep midnight; brimming with rolling thunderstorms, the feeling of the earth as your toes dig into dark, rich soil, and the tartness of pomegranate dripping down your chin. This was a year of midnight summer.