We're well into August's final week by now, and the weather seems to have changed completely almost overnight. With the rain pitter-pattering on the landing's skylight behind me and strong gusts of wind making the birch tree in our neighbour's front garden groan and sway, it definitely felt as if Autumn had arrived prematurely on Tuesday.
Buoyed by the previous day's success, we were raring to go and check out two of our favourite local charity shops that morning. I have been missing my rummaging fix for far too long already.
Then the rain and stormy weather came. August rain and skies pitch black with storm clouds. The sky ringing with crows cawing and screeching blue murder. The sun going down while making one more attempt to set the day on fire. An unmistakable scent of pending Autumn in the air.
Did we already have Summer's grand finale?
So, this is it then. I'll be welcoming our week away with open arms.
Stay safe, and I'll see you at the other side!
* From The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath, 8 August 1952:
"August rain: the best of the summer gone, and the new fall not yet born. The odd uneven time."