Such a summer is it that the red currants shimmer white, red and black in the bushes, the blackbirds are wandering through the grass and the cat just lies there too lazy to get up chasing after them. Such a summer is it. My nieces are dancing under the watering can and they laugh and laugh all day long. Gently blows the wind through my hair and heavy are the rose leaves, which are falling in my hands scenting like the drawer of my grandmother where next to her white pearl necklace, always rose leaves dried and smelled exactly like those in my hands. Cool is the watermelon, her skin of a deep green, marbled with lighter spots, and of a sweet, ladylike pink is the flesh, ice-cold in my mouth and my teeth click at the pitch black kernels. The blackberries are not yet black, the still wait for their time to come, the apple tree are thirsty and drink to the fullest. The plum-tree smiles gently, looking proud of his already light blue treasures, the grass is long and in between bloom white daisies, my nephew counts all the clouds and the clouds are passing slow, so he does not miss a single one. In the hammock, the gently wind sings songs for them and the hundred year old stones under my feet are brown and warm, till late in the evening when the birds sleep and the children dream of another day, where they might try to eat ten scoops of ice. Such a summer is it.