Boy, I hear you. I’m an Autumn kid, born at the tail end of the summer and – when I lived in the East – I only really felt alive in late September and October. I thrill to the snap in the air, the chill in my bones and the skittering of dead leaves on the sidewalks. And yet every summer I go through the same sense of loss, the same melancholy. If it weren’t for my children, I don’t know if I’d even know summer had some, let alone gone.

Time to cue up The Whales of August. It ain’t Ozu but it’s awful damn sweet.