The Texture of a Late Summer Day

Late summer has a texture all its own.

It’s the softness of linen warmed by the sun.

The hum of cicadas drifting through open windows.

The golden light that spills slowly across terracotta floors, unhurried, like the season itself.

We find ourselves in this gentle in-between; where mornings are still kissed by summer’s warmth, but evenings carry a whisper of fall. These days feel like a held breath, a pause between chapters.

Inside our homes, cabinet is filled with folded quilts and towels, each holding a memory of the months behind us: picnics under olive trees, salt-dried hair after a swim, early mornings on balconies wrapped in woven throws. These fabrics aren’t just textiles; they are timekeepers. They mark the seasons with their textures, holding the stories of how we lived in them.

Late summer invites a slower rhythm. It asks us to savor the ordinary:

• Rinsing fruit under cold water

• Folding sun-dried towels with hands still warm from the light

• Listening to cicadas fade into the evening hush

There is a bitter-sweetness to this time; the tender ache of knowing summer is ending, yet an excitement for what’s ahead. Autumn will bring its own colors, its own rituals, its own quiet beauty.

But for now, we linger here.

We let late summer teach us to be present.

We let our hands rest on the woven things we love; the ones that held us in warmth, the ones that will soon wrap us in the cooler months to come.

We believe the best stories, like the best fabrics, aren’t rushed. They are woven slowly, with patience and care. Just like these days.

Wherever this finds you; we hope you’re savoring the light, the laughter, and the soft transition of the season.

With love,

The Prickly Pears Sisters

Bengisu & Nagehan

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“ It is easy to forget now, how effervescent and free we all felt that summer.”

― Anna Godbersen, Bright Young Things