Scout Scar- an English summer?

From Scout Scar escarpment looking down to the Lyth Valley and out to Morecambe Bay

The idyll of an English summer feels precarious, on the edge.  Today, there's a refreshing breeze up on Scout Scar, and the scene is tranquil.  Grasses are gone to seed and golden. Down in the Lyth Valley the harvest seems to be safely gathered in.   No rain is forecast for the next week and cracks appear on the track as the ground dries out.  The news tells of dairy farmers struggling to keep cattle cool and comfortable.   Trees are coming under stress  and shedding  leaves.   Neither wildlife, nor we, nor our homes, nor our infrastructure are designed for this.  The heat goes on and there is foreboding in the air.  But the early morning is lovely up on the escarpment. Carpe diem, enjoy the day.  What else can we do?  

If you walk through stonechat territory when there's a young brood the adults will chat angrily at you to be gone.  The adult male is most vociferous,  chat-chatting loudly from a conspicuous perch at the top of a tree.   His family join the chorus from encircling shrubs,  following me as I walk - to see me off.   
There is noone here but me and the stonechat family.   I have been here before,  in an interlude with stonechat.  There are a few pairs here - if you look for them. There used to be more.

Coming down off Scout Scar, there are several butterfly hotspots and I linger over scabious and hawkweed where common blue butterflies flit over drifts of flowers. A dark green fritillary is so sun-bleached it's lost its rich orange colours.   A small skipper and a meadow brown show close in the scabious favoured of pollinators. Bramble flowers are fading fast- in this prolonged heat-wave flowers bloom and set seed rapidly. Long grass stems woven together with strong silk tell that spiders have been busy.  
There used to be swallows at Bradleyfield Farm and they're much missed.   When insects are flying low the swifts are scooping them up.   Soon they'll be gone.  
How would you describe an English summer? With sunshine and refreshing rain, green fields. England is blessed, was blessed, with an equable  climate- no extremes.  In the hot summer of 1976 I must have been abroad and flown home over drought-parched brown fields.  That summer stands out as an exception. We are neither prepared nor adapted for the change that is upon us, neither us, nor our homes, nor our infrastructure.  Nor is our flora and fauna, our wildlife and our farms.