I love hydrangeas for their colour, for the fact they hold that colour into Spring some times, for their hugeness and sturdiness, for the fact they are not a single flower on a stalk but a profusion. The picture above was taken on a street that is near us, full of honeysuckle and yellow rose growing everywhere, and lavender. A summer street.
Sometimes it’s hard here to tell when Summer is closing down. The weather so variable that it fools you into thinking the end has come. A day of white sky and damp cobbles. Or a cold sweeping wind from the North East. But I think that time has come. It is a matter of perspective, but I think so.
I’m making plans for the Autumn, and craving it. Not colder weather – since the drop off is from the dizzy highs of 19c to more like 13, 14c – but crisper air. Gales coming in. I like a buffeting wind. I like to see the leaves crickling down the street. Hydrangeas remind me of this cusp-time, before the proper cold of late Autumn. Remind me of our wedding, in the beginning of September three years ago, when we were in the North of the country, in a wooden lodge by the silver-sanded sea with family and friends, and flowers and wedding cake homemade by my mother.
September only has this one date to brighten it, though October is full of plans. October will see us having another go at the 48 hour short film contest, see that flash fiction of mine published, and me heading London bound on an overnight sleeper, to meet my agent and catch up with good friends. London is like another world, a city state, and I always look forward to visiting, and always to leaving it again.
But what will fine September bring?