Walking back from my local place, happily full of red wine and bresaola, shades on against a cloudless 31C early afternoon — 88 F for you benighted Americans — there was a moment when the humidity lifted, the street went quiet, and I was suddenly transported back to summers I used to know. Humidity’s been an increasing issue out here on the coast. All of a sudden, it lifted, and the sun was just blazing and everything was bright and clean and real.

Autumn has a habit of switching on at the turn of September, as if at the flick of a toggle. It’s 33 as I write this, and the weather forecast has the heat spiraling down after today. This is the last big day of summer. And I feel compelled to record the pleasure of standing there on the street with a book in my hand, suddenly under the sunshine of an old summer, the years burning off and all the joys becoming simple again.

 

Reading: NETWORKS OF NEW YORK, Ingrid Burrington (UK) (US)