Sunday, 4 September 2011

Farewell to summer






Apologies for the long silence -- I returned to London from Scotland after the Bank Holiday weekend, and have been trying, and failing, to catch up ever since. The photographs (above) were taken on one of the loveliest days in August, on an almost empty Scottish beach -- Lunan Bay in Angus -- where the sea stretches forever into the sky. It already seems a long time ago, walking along the sands, looking out for white feathers, and gathering tiny pebbles that look like gemstones, washed smooth by the waves.
Home again, and blessed by a warm afternoon in the garden yesterday, dead-heading roses, planting spring bulbs (daffodils, snow-drops, grape-hyacinths) and trimming the lavender. The new school term is already underway, and September feels like a beginning, as well as an ending, as always...

15 comments:

kairu said...

It was a mostly cold summer in Seattle this year, only getting warm well into August and now, finally, September. Today the sky is so clear and blue and the air so warm it is hard to believe fall is almost here.

The photos are wonderful! I love walking along the beach in the early morning, or late afternoon, before the mists roll out to sea or as the sun is setting.

Justine Picardie said...

It was mostly cold here in August too -- socks and jeans and jumpers required -- but the sun came out yesterday, and the day before, in London; though raining again today.

enid said...

Don't we all alter and change our own lives ? It is even impossible to read an autobiography as truth . Here it is Spring and my Jasmine is in full bloom and it fills me with delight. My daughter has just read Daphne and loved it . She has never read Rebecca so i have exhorted her to get it and read it !1 So lovely to have you back in blogland

Justine Picardie said...

The story of how we tell the story of our lives -- that's what still fascinates me (along with feathers!). Glad to be back in blogland...

enid said...

In a book by SA writer Damon Galgut his grandfather says If I can't remember it, it didn't happen. Yes it's how we choose to tell our lives that is so fascinating.

normalityandme said...

Always see September as a beginning (and be wary of the spiders). I look forward to snuggling up in soft blankets, bracing autumn walks, Sunday afternoon roast dinners at the local pub and getting the garden all nice and tidy as the summer colours fade into autumnal hues.
Your photo's are wonderful x

Justine Picardie said...

I try to be positive about autumn -- apple crumbles, autumn leaves -- but I can't help dreading the shortening days. My constitution is geared towards summer -- maybe because I was born on June 20th?

Lilacs In May said...

Helloooo! Great photos of the feathers. For me, photos are so necessary - to comfort in the long, dark months ahead that the sun will, and can come around again. Photos are my proof. I can remember what I did if I have photographed it, maybe that's why I snap away incessantly. Love all the comments here today. I am a September baby and love the coming of my birth month but dread the cold, dark and dank creeping upon us. My photos will have to keep me warm, until the bulbs come out. I have bought masses of paperwhites, and Rip Van Winkle daff bulbs - they look exactly like they have woken up after a long sleep... Off to make a crumble :)

kairu said...

I'm a summer baby, but I confess, I love the shortening days! I have to go stock up on paperwhite bulbs soon; last fall I planted them in waves (in gravel-filled vases), and I had them blooming all through the fall and well into spring. Maybe this year I will be organized enough to get some hyacinths, too.

It's Labor Day here in the US, and as I have the day off from work I'm spending it moving around all the books that seem to have mysteriously collected themselves over the summer...who knew I had so much P. G. Wodehouse? So many many small paperback mysteries? Surely they will last me through the gray light of fall and the darkness of winter...

serenknitity said...

Lovely pics - ah, Scotland is magical when the weather is accommodating.

I'm absolutely loving your Coco Chanel btw - every time I settle down with it I feel like I'm opening a wonderful box of chocolates.

jaywalker said...

Spring is happening very slowly in Tasmania and it's been wet and windy and cold in between odd days of sunshine but the daffs are appearing everywhere and giving a cheerful look to people's gardens at long last.

We missed the worst months being in the UK and Croatia in June/July. Only one plant in the garden didn't survive our absence and that was a tough lavender which I thought had more fortitude! never mind, it gave an excuse to visit the garden centre.

I'm a June baby too - the 1st - which here is the first official day of winter but my psyche gets a bit confused because I was born in an English summer.

enid said...

I am a July baby - winter in SA but Spring has arrived and today Table Mountain is a giant carpet of wild flowers and the sky is so blue - it is really uplifting

Justine Picardie said...

All these wonderful comments are inspiring me to plant more bulbs this autumn. I've put lots in the garden -- in the ground, and in pots -- but I must do some indoor ones, as well. All advice welcomed, please... I've never planted them for the inside, so I need your tips.

enid said...

Single hyacinth bulbs are frequently planted in bulb glasses, filled with water.

The bulb is placed in the neck of the glass and the water should reach to a point just below the base of the bulb.

The narrow neck of the glass supports the bulb so that it remains dry while sending roots down into the water.

Place in a cool dark place well ventilated until top growth is about four inches tall.

This should take about eight to ten weeks. Make sure the temperature does not exceed 50f

After this time in the dark the glass can be put in a north window of a room and gradually introduced to more and more light .

HB said...

A new post from you Justine, brightens the dullest London day. I dread winter; I've never been good with dark days at the best of times. x