Signals from Autumn

A walk down the seafront with Em last night. The humidity had lessened, true, and though still warm wasn't quite as suffocating. She noticed it too though; 'it doesn't feel like a summer night.' It didn't, the beach huts seems sharply delineated, and the moonless sky was black as December. The pools of shadows between the lamps seemed darker, and the miles-distant pier at Littlehampton glimmered. Tiny fullstops of light, dotting the sentence of the unseen structure, a night time punctuation.
Still too early to look forward to autumn though, just one of those premonitions each season brings of the season following.
It rained last night, heavy drops of welcome rain. It muted the streets, brings a welcome quiet before the August carnival arrived.
I think I dreamt of carnivals last night, of travelling by helicopter through the English countryside. Stopping on fields by patches of trees. The helicopter trying to take off while I was still sat on the roof. Warning cries. A tractor approaching that looked like a steam train that wasn't going to stop.
The steam train / tractor was due to the fact that I am doing a CD cover for 'Andrea Kennt and the Cavalry', a man standing at a desolate train station waiting for a steam train to take him away from Judgement Station. Which is what I must do when I finish writing here. Procrastination fever, feel I could sleep for years...