Today was the first time I felt us nearing the end of summer. After my birthday, the end of August seems to swing in so fast. There was a sniff of autumn in the air, from a neighbour’s bonfire, which feels so different from that hunger-inducing smell of a barbecue in July.
We walked around Newtown this afternoon, after the sun made a welcome late appearance. As still as a millpond, the bay looked like a boat village, with all the sea dog holidaymakers.
Is it too soon to start getting excited about autumn? Soup and bread, knitting patterns, seed catalogues…
We haven’t been out on the allotment since Tom sprained his ankle last week. I console myself with the (possibly misplaced) idea that there is little we can plant at the moment anyway. Almost all of the weeds are now cleared, so that feels like enough of an achievement for now. Besides, that mound of soil has waited this long, it can wait another week.