The summer always lingers through September, in Camelot!
Kitty bliss. Ben wants to grow up to be a pirate's parrot. He is practicing his perching.
These are the gilt-edged days, that start with early clouds, and warm to dry and sunny afternoons. These are new pencil and unused notebook days. These are days when you squeeze the last shreds of wear out of your old sandals, while you eye the shiny new boots in the stores. These are transition days, a time of passage. Kids are leaving their sweaters at school, or losing them on the bus. Gardeners are putting in bulbs, already planning for the glory of spring. And the sun is slanting more to the south, more to the south, ever further away from summer.
I am in my usual sweet autumnal melancholy. I don't want summer to go. And there's not a damn thing I can do about it. Screaming and crying and throwing myself on the floor just doesn't work. The seasons turn whether I want them to or not. But why are they turning faster lately? Wasn't it the fourth of July just a couple of weeks ago? I seem to have mislaid most of my summer somewhere. Perhaps it's under the petunias . . .
Fiber related news tomorrow. Artwalk sockyarn scarf has been started (Starry Night colorway) and I'm one skein along on the sweater for MIL.