Summer isn’t ice-cream and beaches. Not to me.
The summer forces windows wide, admitting birdsong, creaking gates, the whirring of mowers, the madness of hedge trimmers, and the rhythmic cawing of noisy birds.
Neighbourhood children add to this with shouts, as do their mothers, while the grinding, grating power tools amplify their white noise backing track.
The skies are bland and blue, adorned with swathes of dove-grey clouds.
We wake early and retire late, and doze through the heat of the day, to be wakened by the ‘Greensleeves’ of the ice cream van.
Houses remain empty while gardens fill with barbecue smoke and the snuffles of meat-obsessed canines.
But, to me, summer’s not ice-cream and beaches.
Neither are the darker months merely times pre- and post- the manic expectancy of Christmas; the craziness of shops, the worries of the poor and the extravagance of the rich.
It’s more than that.
Winter brings its own silent, deafening beauty and the comforting sounds of rain and wind.
Summer’s muggy blankness is a barrier of brightness.
Yet I’m drawn into winter skies; as tangibly solid and grey as my bed sheet. Winter rises late and snuggles down early in duvets that wrap us in their womblike comfort, while streets echo with cloistered emptiness.
I celebrate the differences of our seasonal extremes, but winter’s majesty, winter’s peace and winter’s rest are the introvert’s perfect backdrop.
Winter’s chill factor warms and energises my soul.
And autumn is a welcome transition.
Only five months more…
#lesleyatherton, #summer, #winter, #scottmartinproductions