Mad weather. I take my morning coffee out to join Beth basking in an upside down season. The other day I heard geese flying over, there are red leaves piled up on the ground and a robin sits on the wheelbarrow watching me watching him. All the signs of late September are staring me in the face but the thermometer says something quite different. Summer has finally arrived as nature dumps autumn on the back doorstep.
It’s odd to feel so warm when the sun is low in the sky and leaves are falling fast. Edinburgh has turned into a Mediterranean city; cafes spilling out on to pavements, people eating and drinking in dark warmth, instead of the usual clusters of smokers hunched over a quick fag on a cold night.
With perfect timing we’re getting ready for a late holiday in Spain, grabbing a chance to warm our bones before winter after a long miserable summer. Now the Athens of the North is at least as hot as the one on the edge of bankruptcy. Madrid, where we are headed, is no warmer.
For the last few days I’ve been finding any excuse I can to get outside. Hanging up washing, pulling half-heartedly at a weed or two, shrinking from the thought of tackling the rose that has gone rampant after months of rain.
My poor garden is even more neglected than my blog. They are both making me feel guilty. It’s not just the other work that’s been getting in the way. When there was time to spare, the weather was wrong. But while the blog just stands idle when I can’t get into it – words don’t grow by themselves – the garden is always on the go, plants climbing the walls, weeds wangling their way into every nook and cranny.
Still, they will both have to wait a week or two until we get back from sunny Spain. By then, doom mongers predict we can expect snow.
If winter jasmine comes can spring be far behind. The answer is probably yes.