Somehow, we've hopped skipped and jumped straight through Spring and landed in the middle of Summer.
Every morning the first bright sunbeams of the season cut through the crisp morning air; and every afternoon wide open skies let hazy sunshine pour onto golden fields of dancing dandelions that absorb its warmth with glee.
There's a sacred stillness in the air, as though the world's still holding its breath, believing this to be too good to be true, and a tiny tremor of tension, because we're scared that the magic's going to break.
And like the blossoming trees above us, we're simply soaking up the sunshine, gratefully sucking the marrow from this sudden slice of summer and abandoning the house in favour of the garden to the point where we're spending more time outdoors than in.
We're savouring the still, slow pace of summer and delighting in the sight of bare baby toes, the scent of sticky suncream, the sound of giggles interspersed with splashes and the perfect contentment of an afternoon watching my little boy splash about in a box.
"Summer was made for babies," said my mum, as John ran bare-bottomed through her garden.
It makes me quite giddy with excitement to think that this is just the beginning.