Goodbye to firefly dances and starry nights, until we meet under the summer sky again!

Farewell to spontaneous picnics and grassy knoll views. Until the next blanket spread!

Summer afternoon—summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language. Henry James

August rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time. Sylvia Plath

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