Swallows chatter busily, balanced on the swaying overhead power cable. Some preen and fluff their feathers, and suddenly one lifts off the line, lifting and dropping in a whimsical aerial dance. The rest follow in an unchoreographed overhead ballet, sometimes pausing in a treetop or two, and eventually resettling onto the wire.
Summer is fading into autumn – more like exploding into autumn, really, in a vibrant final display of colour. I love this time of year, for its oranges and russets, honeys and browns, and for the sense of fulfilment as the farmers harvest the fields and we gather in our tatties and apples. The nip in the air overnight is a harbinger of frosts to come, but as yet there is enough heat in the sun that, if it shows its face, there is power there to burn.
It’s a glorious season. Almost a triumphant season.
But it doesn’t last.
It gets messy, as the trees disrobe and fall colours fade into slimy piles of decaying browns and blacks. Bonfires raise a stench and a pall of smoke; swallows desert us and follow the sun; geese squawk overhead, keeping their v-shape as they migrate. Winter is on the way.
I’m talking about more than just the earth’s seasons here.
Carpe diem.
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