. . . and the month of august always feels a little bittersweet, as if it were the beginning of summer’s end, and the mornings seem a little less hazy and the evenings a little more crisp, and the pace of everyday has begun to quicken, overtaking summer’s languor; but the waters have finally begun to warm, and the stars still light late-night conversations long after the rest of the world has fallen into dreams, and there are still a few weeks left of beautiful summer . . .