As far as I'm concerned we've got a good two weeks of summer left, but the past week or so1 has seen a decided - and somewhat unwelcome - swing to autumn. The English summer, all four weeks of it, was a glorious experience - but the leaves are now falling.
The long summer days of latitudes above 51° 30' really are something to treasure. It's a new and delightful pleasure - if only it wasn't so fleeting - to get off work at five (or so) and have a full 4 hours of daylight left to play with. Picnics in London's oasis where the bright blue sky and impossibly elastic twilight provide a catalyst for the friends, cheese and wine to coalesce into memories that should last a lifetime.
I must get around to taking some pictures of the estate we live in before the summer leaves disappear entirely.
The English autumn will be a new experience to enjoy, and the winter has its own charms which I can look forward to, but the summer will be missed. How time flies.