More July than May

Like walking into another dimension. The sudden heatwave is disorientating. Now it does feel like summer. in every breath, in every footstep on the morning pavements, it feels like summer. The trees down New Church Road are deep green with leaves, and the air tastes, as all early summers do, of electric fences and fairgrounds.
In the Pavilion Gardens at lunchtime with Em, sat in the shade of trees, and the park is packed with people. I remember I used to come here so often. The cups of tea from the cafe never change, that same langour, the Ta--Chi man is back, practising the same movements in the same place, as he has done for at least ten years.
There are the angles of all summers - or the beginnings of all summers - in these days, those both experienced and remembered, and those that are imagined, or rumoured. Strange how the very beginnings of seasons (when ir really isn't the season concerned at all) capture the essence of the coming season far more than being right in the middle of it. The end of May feels more like July than July ever does. August feels more like October than October.
It seems unbelievable we are only a month away from midsummer.