This last week I’ve sensed a slight shift. There seems to be a different scent in the air, not one of high summer anymore but a heavy, hearty note of something which sparks memories of woods, dampness and fallen leaves.
The harvest is in full swing. From my room I watch the combines chugging, weaving their way up and down the patchwork hills. The air here is full of dust, business and rush to reap what was sowed, before the next rain. Creatures retreat from the fields, flocking down the newly stubbled hillside towards my village. I’ve seen mice, harvestmen and house spiders, searching for somewhere safe to shelter, away from the spluttering, relentless tractors. There are those who leave to join the farmers – the sparrows, the doves, the jackdaws. They pick over dropped seeds, hanging around the grain store in mobs.
- me and my brother, 2011 -
It seems we’ve reached a pinnacle, a point at which everything has ripened or is ripening fast. Brambles are turning black with berries, as are the elders, punctuating the red of hawthorn hedgerows. The horse chestnut on the Green is baubled by green curled-hedgehog cases, each ready to split and reveal the shiny skins of fresh conkers. The rowan is in all its glory, boughs bowing down to the weight of bright red berries. Every time I look out a branch of it is shaking – blackbirds, wood pigeons, starlings, all guzzling, dropping empty orange skins onto the lawn and into the pond. I can’t wait for the arrival of fieldfares and redwings, they always come here to feast on berries.
It’s my favourite time of year, late summer. Everything reaches its prime in one crescendo of achieved goals – bearing fruit or having reared young. It’s almost a state of relaxation, all is abundant as we teeter on the edge of a descent into autumn. I am not a fan of drastic changes, I like how nature subtly fluctuates from one season to the next. It’s so slight, happening in stages which are barely noticeable, yet a landscape in summer and a landscape in winter are so different they are hardly recognisable as one.
