I Kiss Summer Goodbye

The sun is flickering on and off between clouds and showers, taking itself to bed earlier, rising later. I've been waking with a slight ache in my limbs which passes by ten o'clock. From time to time, there are reminders of the recent heat - a rose still sends out buds; my shadow casts itself against the wall as I walk home; on Sunday afternoon, seats cluster around a pavement café table strewn with coffee cups, wet with rain.

Not so long ago, I swam in the sea off Norfolk. I came back from the beach with the pale cross of a saltire across my back - the negative marks of my swimming costume straps. That weekend spent around the Holkham Estate was a capsule of summer: the sort I would have imagined perfect in childhood - rowing across the lake, drinking late afternoon beers to the sound of jazz, ice cream, cycling along shaded lanes, watching a game of cricket unfolding on the grass.

I walked to the Quarry Park this afternoon, carrying the marks of summer hidden beneath my coat - the light kiss of a suntan on my back, the dimples of ice cream around my waist.

The mallards were anchoring themselves on the bank, cautious of the river's higher flow, whilst the gulls surfed midstream, coursing down towards the bridge. Long white marquees were going up for Oktoberfest. 

October! July is still vivid. I camped beneath the Milky Way and my sons returned home. Things were just getting going. As for August - its sand is still in my rucksack pockets, September? It has barely begun. And this week, October.

It has all come upon me so suddenly.