It is only the first week of August but I can smell autumn. There is an intangible scent in the air, too soon for rotting leaves and bonfires, but something different. It is too warm to sit outside this afternoon but I can sense it; perhaps there is a gradual change in the light, a shift in the shadows, leaves losing their vivid green, the sun’s waning power. Even the swallows seem to be preparing to migrate early this year, already gathering on the telegraph wires.
|hibiscus in the potager|
Everything in front of my eyes says it’s summer – fields of sunflowers, green trees, vegetables and flowers in full bloom, grapes and plums not yet ripe but for me, right now, it feels more like September than August. We have another seven weeks of ‘summer’ before it is time to shut up the house for the winter but I can’t stop myself getting a bit restless now and counting down the days far too soon.