What are days for?
Days are where we live.
They come, they wake us
Time and time over.
They are to be happy in:
Where can we live but days?
Ah, solving that question
Brings the priest and the doctor
In their long coats
Running over the fields.
- Philip Larkin
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Summer (in London, if I must put caption under each picture) is - seeing the RA summer exhibition and Edvard Munch, reading with sunglasses on, iced white wine on Charlotte Street, walking amidst wild flowers, having very late brunch at Lantana.
Or,
summer is strolling at your own pace, getting half drunk and fully happy already at mid-day, humming to the sound of the rain, savouring each unphotographable moments.
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