There’s a fair amount of pick-your-own when it comes to when the seasons change. You can go astronomical, official, linguistic, academic or – well – natural. And summer, according to nature, is over. I noticed this on the last ride, when I could smell sweetgrass (I had no idea it grew in this country, but you learn something new every day) in the fields, and hay drying in bales, and the acrid damp of the first bonfire of the autumn. The leaves, too, are turning yellow and brown and falling – although in some cases, I’m prepared to believe they just got parched in the last heatwave.
Summer’s signature of lavender fields, barbecues and mown grass has dissipated, and no matter the weather, the message is clear. As far as the plants and the environment are concerned, it is now autumn. Summer, regardless of calendars, stars or even Celtic terminology, is at its end.
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