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The first week of August hangs on at the very top of summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning. The weeks that come before are only a climb from balmy spring, and those that follow a drop to the chill of autumn, but the first week of August is motionless, and hot. It’s curiously silent too, with blank white and glaring noons, and sunsets smeared with too much color.

~ Natalie Babbitt, Tuck Everlasting ~