Even as we have barely stopped snatching at every sign of spring as though needy for the confirmation of season, we have slipped past Midsummer. The longest day of the year has already become yesterday. It stayed long, drifting slowly into a lingering soft twilight, but eventually as every day must, it too gave into the inevitability of night. And it is the night that now will take command, as with each turning of the page in our diaries it will grow, lengthening by just a few breaths, delaying the arrival of the morning light. We will not notice yet, as the summer sun will rise high in the sky and holidays will seem endless; a heady cocktail of adventures, longed-for treats and sudden storms. As the weeks tick past, fruits already beginning to form will swell and ripen in the hedgerows and petals will fall from the roses, but we will turn our faces away from them, clinging to dreamy days and dancing light glimpsed from our walks by the river-side.
But we cannot halt the ebbing tide, simply seek out the moments where beauty and joy reside. I say come days! Come nights! Come July when bunting will blow on the village green and swifts around the church tower scream. Come August when the golden sun will lend its colour to the ripened crops. Come September when we pick blackberries and other hedgerow fruits with renewed acceptance of Autumn's approaches. Come each, as you will, but linger awhile, let us taste anew your each and every beloved delight. Come, as you must. Come, but do not rush.