summers end

My favourite six months of the year start in June and end up round about my birthday at the start of January. I love early summer and the excitement of the end of term, even though I don't work in terms any more. I love summer drinks parties & balls & weddings. I love how it is usually hot in June and this year was no exception: a heat wave started on the day of our wedding and lasted for three whole weeks. I love the long drawn out evenings when swallows and bats start swooping around in the bluing sky. I love weekends sat in pub gardens, or the park, or lately, our own garden. Of the air ringing with conversation, with laughter. The taste of salt in the air, and on your face, of sand in the eyebrows and sun warmed skin after a day spent surfing, sailing or merely sunbathing. Of shorts, of flat leather sandals, of cold beer and cold Riesling and pimms and champagne and ginger beer.



Come the end of August and I love the nostalgic feeling of new beginnings, even if really it's far from it. The harvest is brought in, we collect fruit from the hedgerows and from the trees. The nights start to close in and there is a quiver of excitement in the air: for frosts, autumnal colours, the smell of woodsmoke and the comforting warmness of scarves and jumpers. Of long boots and thick, cashmere, over the knee socks. Of cooking, of cosy afternoons in pubs, around fires after trips to the beach, windswept and grey. Of going home, roosting, snuggling up after long afternoon walks around London, over Hampstead Heath, and more frequently, in the countryside.

I still haven't heard anything but I am starting to feel more hopeful. That the elongated break of the summer might be over and something exciting might be about to happen just round the corner. And if it isn't, there is plenty else to look forward to in Autumn.

{All images by Toast}

{Good job I have no money or else I might become a Toast only wearer this autumn...}