The time has come when larkspurs fall to the ground, and damsels take out their pinafores buried in their dresser drawers. Our raging, fastidious sun cannot be corrected as it rebels against all that is mild and cooling. Vegetation unfurls from the backbreaking burden of heat. Sweat becomes the new rain, and mirages replace dreams.
Days are spent with wide-eyed wonder in cinemas, bustling around in vented plazas that clamor with shopping bags and cashier registers, and beside pools that glimmer like an open treasure chest abundant with gold coins and crown jewels. But for those rare calm moments in this fiery season, a farmer wipes his brow, and all things pretty can be illustrated with dainty lace and childhood collars.