Tag Archives: summer

And So Into Summer

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Every year, when the days start to heat up, it feels like a lib­er­a­tion that some strange part of me wor­ries might never come. But it’s here now, as inevitable as any sea­son. May turns into June with barely a sec­ond thought. The wind swings around to the south, blow­ing hot from for­eign lands. It rises, too, tick­ling the tops of trees but bring­ing no relief to those on the ground under the scorch­ing sun.

Field and Farmhouse

Tem­per­a­tures drift inex­orably towards the thir­ties. The gorse flow­ers have faded and gone, pass­ing their torch to the but­ter­cups in the mead­ows and the cow pars­ley that crowds every hedgerow and riverbank.

Win­ter and Spring have had their day. Now it is time for Sum­mer; king of sea­sons, our sea­son. It is time for deep blue skies and end­less green fields. It is time for the smell of bar­be­cues and the salty sea. It is time for the sound of parched heath under­foot and the calls of swal­lows in the cool evening air.

House and Brick Wall

It is time to run, and play, and swim, and laugh, and dance between the hot sand and the blaz­ing sky.

Sum­mer is here.

Summer Calling

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It is past mid­night here, and a warm onshore breeze is just begin­ning to slacken. I stand bare­foot between the blink­ing lights of the town and the end­less beaches that sweep up the sea, whole again.

There’s sand in my shoes, sand in my bag and sand strewn across the car­peted floor, but it’s matched by the sand in my heart and soul that I can never leave behind.

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Home is here, beneath the blaz­ing sun, ankle deep in salty water. Home is here, amongst the lobster-red tourists and drip­ping ice creams. Home is here, where bar­be­cues cloud the sky and stars reflect upwards from the open sea.

Home is here, between a glo­ri­ous Spring and the beck­on­ing arms of a long, hot summer.

Easter’s Approach

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Not too many years ago, Easter fell early in the month of April. I spent it camp­ing in a bliz­zard some­where near Birm­ing­ham, pack­ing in as many peo­ple as our tent would hold so that we wouldn’t freeze overnight. My choice to spend the day­light hours run­ning around a frozen muddy field in a hakama was also, with hind­sight, not the best of all pos­si­ble choices.

Years have passed, and this time around, Easter falls late. The lilac trees are already in bloom, while cherry blos­soms and dan­de­lion seeds tum­ble in the wind.

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Even at eight in the morn­ing, the sun is high in the sky and the mist is boil­ing away. Blue skies over­head promise a beau­ti­ful day, hot and cloud­less, just like dozens more to come.

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It’s April, then it will be May. The hol­i­days are here, the tourists are here to pack the beaches. Slowly but surely, Spring is becom­ing Sum­mer once more.

A Farewell to Summer

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The day began with mist rolling in over the sea, but before long it turned to morn­ing driz­zle and on into a rainy after­noon; big, lazy rain­drops falling in patches from the sky. Then as evening came the mist rolled in once more, cloak­ing every­thing in damp­ness and white. Here by the shores of the Eng­lish Chan­nel, this is how autumn begins.

Though it will return in patches over the com­ing month, brief flick­ers and shad­ows of July’s heat, the sum­mer that was is now gone. It was a sum­mer of travel and of dodg­ing the rain, a sum­mer of remem­ber­ing the past and of mak­ing plans for the future. It held what might be my last RABIES, what may be my last sum­mer in Gali­cia, and what almost cer­tainly will be my last sum­mer as an unmar­ried man.

So now, as the light dims and dies for another year, bring on har­vest and Hallowe’en, bring on the howl­ing winds and dri­ving rain, bring on coats and inside-out umbrel­las and mugs of warm cider by the fire. Soon it will be sum­mer once more, and every­thing will be different.