Summer is losing it’s strength as winter rises from hibernation, groggy yet ready to begin.
There’s something poetic to be made of a day that just can’t make up it’s mind, but really it stands as the entire town wearing an extra pair of socks and three shirts to combat the weather, only for 10am to bring a snap of summertime which has us sweating through each layer.
It isn’t as if the seasonal shifts come as a surprise. I’ve had 18 years to work out that summer ending means it’s going to become cold, but it always comes as a dejected surprise.
My favourite season must be summer. Right now I’m quite sure but I can never entirely make up my mind, it’s an impossible choice (like a favourite colour, a favourite song, a favourite person…).
Still, I look forward to 12 layers and beanies and gloves and car heaters and soup. Only, there are two and a half months of Autumn to move through, and I’ll braced for the shifts in weather, so fierce and sudden, the season’s mood swing.
(I’m really mostly happy summer’s ending because I’m sick of sharing the house with spiders the size of my hands.)