The raindrop that killed the summer

Someone sent me this picture as an attachment many years ago and I kept it. It stirred within me a feeling of melancholy, and longing, of some lost memory that was curiously rekindled. The little boy looks down on the beach; he does not want to leave, not just yet. But summer is over. The woman struddles along, she looks away, she knows the future, she's seen it happen before. There is no one around, just the two of them. And the sky, and the sand, both of which fade into grey. Perhaps there is an autumn storm on its way to the beach. Maybe the mother quickens her step to make sure they arrive under a dry roof soon. And yet I cannot help but thinking like the little boy. If ever was possible to stay a little longer. If ever was for that first raindrop of autumn not to kill the summer right off.