"Summertime, oh summertime, pattern of life indelible, the fade proof lake, the woods unshatterable, the pasture with the sweet fern and the juniper forever and ever, summer without end..."(E.B. White, “Once More to the Lake”)
Ah, if only! But already I am thinking "the days are getting shorter; the summer is waning; my deep purple clematis will be finished blooming soon; I have so little time to sit out, idling my days away; it will all be over before I know it." The glass-half-empty approach, which I deplore even as I begin to count my imagined losses.
image: Henri Lebasque, Deux filles lisant