Summer drifts to a close. The heat of the setting sun wafts memories by the mind's eye, stung by the chill of August and the oncoming Autumn. It is such a melancholic time of year; the changes brought about by the seasons become clear. School starts again, and the leaves fall to the ground as nature drifts off to sleep, fat on the harvest and content having sensibly stored supplies for the long Winter months.
It's time to wrap up or hide away and succumb to sleep tucked in the shawl of short days and long nights.
The Summer has been a pleasant one. Visions of past Summers shimmer like a mirage but evaporate under scrutiny. I cannot focus on any single aspect. The end of the Summer is a poignant time of year. The morphing world is an unsettling reminder of the inevitable march of time. The start of something, something different.
How strange that school and the academic year start with something dying. The last rays of Summer sun sink behind the hills. The trees shed their healthy green for tan, brown and orange or nothing. These coloured collages are tugged to the ground, whipped and pulled by the wicked wind and crushed underfoot. The winds grow in momentum and the rains grow cold. The coats come out from the back of the wardrobe and layers upon layers are bandaged around us to help stop the heat bleeding from our bodies. Shielding us from the elements; coats, scarves, hats and boots.
The memories of Summer fade and we look forward to the shortest day, when after we can count the extra light.
