Summers End

The summer is my favourite time of year. I love the warmth and the promise of holidays, the leafy green fullness of the trees and the sweet smell of wild roses, the long hours of daylight and being able to wear fewer clothes. But towards the end of August it all feels a little sad. The leaves have an undeniable tinge of yellow, the days are noticeably shorter and the air in the morning has the fresh smell that heralds the stomach wrenching return to school. The summer is nearly finished, all good things come to an end and, although it feels as though it will last forever, it is over too soon, gone for another year, faded, slipping off towards the south leaving a little cold patch in my heart. Regret, unfulfilled wishes and dreams and a longing to stop the seasons, the days, the clock. Just one more beautiful day, just one more everlasting summers day. But it is too much to ask.

Then I take a walk.

It is late August, and the leaves on the trees have an undeniable tinge of yellow but the bushes are heavy with fruit. There are Blackberries aplenty, rose hips of the most magnificent vermilion. There are apples, elderberries, damsons and plums. There are Sloes, with the promise of warmth in the winter, just prick them all over and steep in gin with sugar and they will warm you in the most bleak of cold winter days. It is a time to gather and hoard. To take in the end of this summer and keep it with you, a chance to stop time. Just for a while. Just until you can accept the oncoming of winter, and the cold that it brings.