An Ending Of Sorts

A house surrounded by owls, mainly from the hill behind; dark from 8.30 onwards.  Family staying in the pub, trees lit by the pub lights, soft warm darkness.

And suddenly the month ends and with it this journal and even a whole seasonal journals project running back two years.  I find it hard to slow down and think of the project as complete.

But driving home yesterday the fields here seemed richly golden, if perhaps heavily golden; the green of the trees looked tired and fading.  And it has been cooler, stuffier, damper.  It feels as if the summer is winding down.

A weekend of festivals, perhaps the festival season's last splurge; Presteigne Music, Creamfields and Mathew Street, Reading, Leeds, Notting Hill.  I always associate the August bank holiday with Larks in the Parks in Liverpool, a three day free music event in one of the city's parks.  I remember walking home across the park at the end of one event and seeing a patch of early autumn colour in the trees, and realising with a shock that summer was over.