Summer’s end. Misty, nippy, a few dramatic sunsets and a hint of wood smoke. Too many wasps, baskets of apples and everyone being country garden hipster with armfuls of dahlias. And back to school. Met with relief tinged with regret. The nagging feeling that we haven’t done enough with the holiday followed by the contradictory frustration that there hasn’t been much relaxing.
We never did get to Ibiza. And what happened to the nature table we were going to create? Or nailing a times table a week? Why have we still not bought school shoes? And on the questioning goes. Until it turns a corner into why there weren’t more lazy days, the sun loungers still in the shed and the summer reading stack untouched.
Just one day of nothing planned can go either way. It could end up with a caterpillar hotel of lego or screens banned for the rest of the holiday, well ok the week, well alright for today. But I mean the whole of the rest of today right?
Next year things will be different. Except am hoping not that different - still want to go to a festival, to a big city, evening swims in the sea, cooking breakfasts outside, waking up under canvas, sundowners in street bars playing cards with fanta drinking children, seeing a bit of art, theatre, old friends and drag troupes. All in all it’s been a blast.
The swallows are gathering on the telephone wire. They know it’s nearly time.