All UK dwellers feel that our summer seemed to end with July. August was so dark and wet that it could rival any of the most dismal months of winter. Although we are still having those little bursts of sunshine, there is a heavy scent of Autumn in the air with whole banks of trees beginning to turn their leaves already.
As much as Autumn is by far my favourite season, I was still relieved to find on Sunday morning the basking sun of late summer streaming through my window. I dressed and donned my Autumn snug boots (the blustery wind making me want for woolly garments) and went for a walk around the local park. As you approach the end of my road you are met with a view that I always feel so bizarre for the suburbs of the country’s second city:
This is my affectionately termed ‘pond’ that I often march around when writing frustrates me. But what cannot be seen from the photographs is the random assortment of late Victorian and 1930’s streets that line either side (or the rather ominous looking men who wander the slightly ‘rougher’ side of the pond. Or the countless number of speed walkers who use it’s shores for weight loss).
It is a busy little place but one that I find so pretty when the sun shines through. I think mainly for the Willow trees. Since being a very little girl and seeing an illustration for Andy Pandy where the toys played beneath a Willow tree, I have always wanted a garden with one in. Sadly terraced houses do not afford the room or luxury of such magnificent trees, so the park will have to do for now.
Not long after my little wander the blue skies disappeared. Perhaps Summer has officially gone. Bring on the bluster of Autumn and the long wrapping knits that keep me snug and safe. This turn into Autumn will forever make me feel like an eight year old splashing her Wellington boots in puddles. It will always remind me of the smell of new pencil cases, the taste of hot Vimto and hair whipped wild by the wind. Very happy days.