... is about being a lover not a fighter.
A midnight mover.
But that's hardly all it is.
Summer in Philly is cherry water ice at Rita's.
And Paper Street mojito parties.
The first whiff of salt air when you hit Somers Point.
That first icy draft at Fred's in Stone Harbor after coming off the beach.
Summer in Philly is Sonny Hill League hoops at Temple.
And Pat Burrell keeping that sweet swing going all season.
It's walking like Brando right into the sun.
And knowing that when push comes to shove, there ain't no mountain high enough, no valley low enough, no river wide enough.
It's hearing Snoop crooning from an open car window on a lazy, hazy afternoon on Chestnut Street.
Sipping lemon drops at Positano Coast after a movie at the Ritz.
Discovering the natural beauty that lies beneath the Walnut Lane Bridge.
Summer in Philly is catching Sharon Jones at the Roots picnic in June.
Neil Diamond with your Aunt Betty at the Wachovia in August.
Dr. Dog at Johnny Brenda's.
Modest Mouse at the Mann.
In summer, wrote William Carlos Williams, the song sings itself.
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1. John Callinan said... on May 13, 2008 at 09:00PM
“while not a huge baseball fan in my youth...i have found myself gravitating to 'the american past-time in recent years...and the one thing that really got me in your spiel was "Summer in Philly is rolling into the seventh with Harry Kalas calling the game and still missing Whitey." when I hear Kalas I instinctively wait for Ashburn's voice...and it doesn't come any more more's the pity and I can still hear zinkoff and gene hart... damn I must be getting old”