Summer Evening Light

The British are so pessimistic about summertime.  Every time we have a beautiful warm day, they tell me to take advantage of it while it lasts because it won't happen often.  Even Jon - English as he is - noted on the solstice that it was all downhill from here on out; the days would only get shorter.

As much as I hate to admit it, it's true: it's nearly 9:30 in the evening and it's already dark.  Only two weeks ago we'd still have been in the throes of twilight at this time, but I suppose I must face up to the calendar.  After all, we're approaching August.

But that doesn't mean we can't revel in the summer we have left.  I for one am angry whenever I see autumn (or pre-fall - what the [expletive] does pre-fall mean, anyway?) collections on style blogs.  Let it be, I want to shout!  The magnolia in my front garden is still bursting with huge lemony flowers, the sun still races my alarm to wake me in the mornings, and the slip-n-slide is still slick with water from the children's afternoon play.  It's summer, still.  I insist it is.

And so, while we can, we'll spend happy hour at any pub with an decently wide sidewalk - everyone spills outside when the weather permits, forcing commuters to pass by in the street.  We'll book train tickets to the beach - a group of us are going to Devon this weekend, and swimming costumes are a must for the weekend bag.  We'll stockpile cucumbers and strawberries and oranges and mint - you never know when you might need to whip up a jug of Pimm's, as guests come 'round so spontaneously these months.

The English might be pessimistic about summer, but I'll give them this: they know how to live it to the fullest while it's here.  Thank goodness for that!

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