Some winter mornings, when I walk to work, I let myself imagine for a moment that it is summer, there are no crusted mounds of snow to scale to gain access to the sidewalks, there is no screeching keening wind, I am not wearing heavy boots but soft flats with no socks...it is in fact a perfect summer morning.
Like this morning. It's actually hard to concentrate - fortunately all copy is in and we're waiting now for our proofs, so it's OK if we're Googling "Famous Poems About Summer" and reading:

Emily Dickinson

A something in a summer’s Day As slow her flambeaux burn away Which solemnizes me. A something in a summer’s noon — A depth — an Azure — a perfume — Transcending ecstasy. And still within a summer’s night A something so transporting bright I clap my hands to see — Then veil my too inspecting face Lets such a subtle — shimmering grace Flutter too far for me — The wizard fingers never rest — The purple brook within the breast Still chafes it narrow bed — Still rears the East her amber Flag — Guides still the sun along the Crag His Caravan of Red — So looking on — the night — the morn Conclude the wonder gay — And I meet, coming thro’ the dews Another summer’s Day!

(Image: gallery.photo.net.)