Can freshness be measured? I’m talking about the cooler air eked from darkness and dawn. It can be, meteorologically speaking. It’s a matter of dew point and temperature and wind speed. But what can’t be measured is the way it feels on the skin first thing in the morning. The way it revives.

How different it is from the chilled air of refrigerated buildings. Not that I’m complaining. It would be difficult to work with 95+-degree heat and high humidity. I mention it only to point out the difference.

True freshness is an acoustic guitar, a handwritten letter. It holds within itself the aroma of cut grass and moist creek banks and the swirling crescendo of countless cicadas singing. It is full spectrum. And on this mid-July morning, I’m reveling in it.