Premonitions

7:30am.
I swear I can feel, if not autumn, or even the beginnings of autumn, then perhaps the end of summer. The sense of this is numinous, and does not make much sense, but the bright blue sky I can see in the space between the curtains is a deeper blue, sounds seem sharper and more redolent of the distance, and there is a coolness in the air, despite the sun.
It is not autumn of course, but these premonitions are reminders, warnings perhaps, of time passing, the year moving on. This autumn, of course, is an unknown quantity for me. I have a week left at work, then a week in America, and then... no plans, no design, nowhere I have to be. I look at it all with a dull sense of muted panic and hope that it won't all go wrong.