Autumns Eve

From the confused days at the end of May, and the disquiet weeks that greeted June, through the sudden and welcome events at the end of June, from the lost July days through the deep-summer suspension of August, and summer is at an end. Handfuls of memories and future resonances, nostalgia to be. A tarot card image for the summer, resting amongst the pine trees of Hove Churchyard after signing on, struck by the heat and the summer seeming endless... encapsulated in this last image: The Summer of 2010.
September the 1st is not summer, no matter how hot, how un-autumnlike.
Summer is dead.
Autumn is here.

Today was a bright, hot day, more remniscent of those sudden optimistic days of the early part of this season than a herald of autumn. Sunbathers on the beach, the air-conditioning not cool enough in the training rooms, the evenings still electric with summers potential for anything could happen.
But the dreams of summer are shallow, an always adolesence.
But I could feel it, even through the heat, that sudden euphoria that comes when around the corner from home. My thoughts seem more ordered, more calm, more pleasant, my imagination no longer trying to translate the jagged and uneasy signals of summer.
Thinking, this afternoon, the words silver, milk, october A sigil for the autumn. Flowing quicksilver, the high moon among black and frosty stars, discarded leaves wrapped like tiny mice in the street lamp halos. Clumps of wood on late September days, long shadows and sunlight that tastes of gold. November nights, all orange, rain and sinking through air that feels likethe deepest and thickest of pools. Ghost stories and day dreams, the small hours a temple for the recognition, if not the worship, of slumbering dreaming night-gods.
In the bedsit next door, music and voices, the television broadcasting an ignored programme about houses split by cracks caused by trees ringing the building.
Summer is over.
This is autumns eve.