Tonight I slipped out, to run a ten minute errand, leaving sleeping children cuddled under duvets in the near dusk. The wind had dropped a little, and the air was balmy warm, if not still. A little reminder that it's still Spring, not summer, nipped freshly in the air.
It stirred the smell, the smell of summer nights though, that one you know if you grew up knacker drinking under the canopy of leaves down small, tree-lined country lanes. That smell of ripening and promise, of salt and sex and pollen in the air, the hint of fertility, a midsummer night's dream. Tiny drops of rain the leaves would shield you from, no better place to kiss, breathe in beer and smoke from someone's lips while the rain pit pattered harmlessly above. Summer shelter.