Summer is the smell of crushed pine needles, mosquito bites, twigs in my hair, grass stains on their knees, and bath water so black, we need to go buy bleach…

Summer is days that don’t end. It’s almost 11, and the sun has set—sort of—but the sky is still all sorts of shades of blue, and I’m not sure when it will turn black—aha, here, now, look, darkness.

Summer is nights that don’t end. You know what I mean. (I know, I love that too…)

Summer is letting the weed patch bloom while I read six books at the same time.

Summer is scent, everywhere.

Summer is intoxicating. Especially this year, right now.

In gratitude,


One thought on “Summer

  1. Winter is cold. The coldest it has been for 7 years we have been assured by the powers that be. -4C out on the river? “Unheard of!” The garden has unrecognisable crispy bits left over from the almost constant frosty mornings. We have a record breaking cold snap promised this weekend with accompanying alerts to the elderly and the very young (although I am not sure that their target “very young” audience is up to reading the local blurb…) Loving lighting Brunhilda (enormous seventyleven 4 oven wood burning behemoth that makes life blissful over winter) and letting her burn for our 8 month winter. Not looking forward to what nature and man have cooked up for us this summer to be honest. Sahara desert meets North Sidmouth methinks but till it hits, I am enjoying this crisp, cold morning air, and how all of my excess pounds blend into my winter Michelin couture. Seeing as you like summer, could you please keep it for a while? “Ta” :).

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