Summer is often a headlong rush into catastrophe. Things reach their potential, but then keep on going. They crowd each other out. They grow, die and decay until all sense of order is undone. A piece of this and a piece of that. Things out of control until the moisture is sucked from them and the next cycle begins. It’s a time when we tend to think of other things. To imagine and to remember. To ready ourselves for what comes next. But not to think too closely about what actually is.