This morning there is a tinge of autumn in the air. Although the last week or so has been perfect summer weather, early in the morning autumn is waiting in the wings.
Some scent in the air, or chill in the breeze, or heaviness in the dew seems to whisper of autumn. The birdsong has a mournful edge. The summer flowers have peaked and are in decline. Blackberries bejewel the hedgerow.
No wonder poets write of the fleeting nature of summer. She comes with such promise, but never stays as long as we hope.
As a witch I love the cyclical wheel of nature, relishing each season in turn. And yet I find myself wanting to hold on to each one too. The crisp clarity of winter, the freshness and promise of spring, the easy bounty of summer and the melancholy woodsmoke-scented autumn. Perhaps this wanting to cling to every last moment is age-related. It is true that time speeds up as the years pass. This world is so beautiful, who wouldn't want to savour every minute?