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This short story about the perfect summer is part of a prose collection by Welsh poet Dylan Thomas. I don’t think of Wales when I think of summer. But I do think of Australia, where I was—in southern hemisphere summer—when I plucked this book out of a pile left in a box on a sidewalk in Sydney.
This passage, and my memories of how it landed in front of my eyes—eventually—two years later, put a certain aesthetic of “the best summer” in my head. The blues and yellows evoke the heat, the sun, the sky, the hot wind, the lazy air, the corn, the birds, and “the summer country.”