When summer gathers up her robes of glory,
And, like a dream, glides away.
- Sarah Helen Whitman
I'll be right there! We shout. But we secretly hide in the backyard, standing below the naked parts of the trees above, where the sun is still hot, and we swear it's still summer where everything gold can stay. So we reason. The peaches are in season. The fawns are out alone. And the children next door just learned to ride bikes, which certainly means it can be nothing but summer.