Of all the maxims that might apply to summer, “You don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone” comes to mind most readily for a Chicagoan. Because it’s hot and sticky and we complain; because of slow-walking/Segway-mounted idiot tourists; because it’s August, and before you know it you’ll be wading through daily Snowmageddons in thermal underwear. Our short summer gives us a window into a place like Florida, whose sunbathed brilliance comes to represent the long, lazy summer ideal. We ought to be a little more appreciative of our last few weeks of warmth and sunshine, since after the leaves fall there we’ll be hard-pressed for any such echoes of an idyllic, blue-skied playground.

Photos on the first page are by Oscar Loo. Photos on the second page are by Greg Granaghan.