When the sun is shining, I can do anything; no mountain is too high, no trouble too difficult to overcome.
I am summer, come to lure you away from your computer... come dance on my fresh grass, dig your toes into my beaches.
In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.
Summer is a promissory note signed in June, its long days spent and gone before you know it, and due to be repaid next January.
Summer afternoon—summer afternoon; to me those have always been the two most beautiful words in the English language.
A perfect summer day is when the sun is shining, the breeze is blowing, the birds are singing, and the lawn mower is broken.
August rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time.