L says once Ferragosto is over, so is the summer. It may still be hot, but summer it is not. It is certainly less than a fortnight until September, but at the orto/allotment this morning, with the bright sun and the tomatoes busting out all over (all you had to do was touch them and they would fall into your basket), it was hard to believe what she said could be true.
And then, as my students started to pack up their books, just about half-past eight this evening, I looked out of the window of the classroom and saw twilight there. It was the first time this year I'd noticed it at this time of day and I realised, hai ragione L, you called it. Summer is almost over.
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