Two weeks ago summer surrounded us. We were on the beach on a glorious August day.
Today is dull and overcast, with occasional glimpses of the sun, as it mocks us through the sullen blanket of cloud, reminding us of what has been. Whilst it is officially still summer it feels as if autumn has descended upon us with an enthusiasm that I am not yet ready to share.
My daughter is on self-appointed 'leaf duty' and attempts to pass the mantle on to me, via text, after she has departed to college. I leave the leaves to lie like dried tears upon the grass, having no desire to go and remove them. The mower can do the job far more efficiently than I could, but even that can offer only a short respite before others take their place. It is a pointless, thankless, never ending task. Above the garden pigeons and magpies roost in the dense canopy of the oaks that line our southern boundary. In the summer the trees provide welcome shade for the bottom half of the garden, but come the beginning of September and the approaching equinox, the sun is no longer clears the topmost branches, and the shade reaches menacingly towards the house.
There will still be some sunny days. The leaves will turn to beautiful shades of gold, red and orange. Berries will ripen in hedgerows. I will enjoy the seasonal changes, but inside I will long for the next summer and the sound and sight of the sea.