Minneapolis is magical in the summer.

I’ll be walking down a sidewalk and stumble into a passageway made of sunflowers. I’ll be biking up a protected bike lane and whiz past charming homes near quaint clusters of small businesses. I’ll be running around the lake and see sailboats framed beneath the downtown skyline. I’ll be at the annual alley dance party with my neighbors, a little toasted.

Lush urbanity. Postcards once called it the city of lakes and parks — maybe we should revive that slogan.

Bad news has been washing over Minneapolis lately, cramming people’s heads with scary visions of urban decay. For my own sanity, I need to reflect on why there’s arguably no better place to live.

I grew up in Manhattan, a concrete jungle. It is too dense, too big for my taste. Minneapolis occupies a sweet spot. Its plentiful residents and visitors support a constellation of lively districts — big and small, corporate and eclectic — surrounded by tree-lined historical neighborhoods that exude a small-town feel.

There haven’t been this many people living in Minneapolis in half a century. It is not dead or emptying out, despite the implications of a recent primetime documentary.

And as with most places in Minnesota, it blossoms in the summer months.

Go stand in the middle of the Stone Arch Bridge at sunset, where a diverse hum of humanity crosses the Mississippi River surrounded by milling relics and plentiful new housing. This is not some aberration. Bop around sipping beers on an industrial chic strip like Quincy Street NE., or follow the enticing aromas down Nicollet Avenue’s Eat Street, and tell me this is some wasteland.