I miss summer, with its sudden thunderstorms and endless light.
Hot, silent, still.
The grass crackles and folds and pales under the glare of a ferocious sun.
And then the rain gushes down in a torrent akin to a waterfall. As quickly as it started, an invisible tap turns off, clouds scudding away to reveal the bluest skies.
Endless deep contemplation in the vast azure.
Stretching over the world and into the distance.
Paling even as it speeds away, until it dissolves into ethereal nothingness.
Hours seem endless, meditation and reflection come with ease. Welcoming atmosphere. Gentle breeze.
I suppose there is a beauty to autumn too. Summer has to burn itself out, and bow to the change in season. Accept the rain, accept age. Accept that life must stand still after months of ravenous growth.
There is a beauty to lashings of endless rain, droplets light enough to dust eyelashes like the smallest jewels. Smooth conkers, waterlogged grass, windfalls aplenty. Trees become sparse, pale, and then explode in a plethora of colour.
Amber and saffron and gold.
The earth sighs and releases her deep essence. The aroma of life. Mud and grass and dying vegetation, rich even in their demise. Generous in their sacrifice. Nutrients seeping into the soil, waiting to sit through icy months, feeding the dormant seedlings that will once again spring to life when the earth turns her face achingly towards the sun.
I miss summer, I do. But I know that in order for us to have a summer, we must also have an autumn and a winter and a beautiful spring.