When does summer begin? I've always thought of summer as May to August, so today is the beginning of summer.
At any rate, we've had summery weather for at least a week already. Blue skies, fluffy clouds, lots of sunshine, and all that.
When I was a kid, I thought (instinctively) of the four seasons as momentous events, that had a being of their own aside from the sequence of time. That a glorious summer's day, or a snowy winter's morning was somehow participating in-- or beckoning towards-- an ideal state of summer or winter, one that was timeless as well as existing in time. That there was a genius temporis as well as a genius loci.
I have to constantly remind myself that there isn't actually such a thing, at least in common reckoning.
(The fact that everything has a timeless as well as a time-bound aspect seems to me to be one of the great sources of poetry in life.)
Is this sensation familiar to anybody else?
(Anything that evokes the seasons is incredibly poetic, in my view. For instance, the very title A Winter's Tale.)
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