Tuesday, 30 August 2011
A Hush and a Roar
This morning we walked stones circles with friends before work. The nights have been full of sideways sheets of rain and winds that gnaw the sides of the buildings.
I have been trying to pretend the summer isn't over, loyally wearing a summer dress in wind and rain and eight-degree temperatures, so as not to offend August (even as she blows my umbrella inside out).
We had to work on Saturday and so we missed our friend's last year of piping in the Lonach march. But on Sunday night we went out into the wild weather to see his band troupe up and into a small stone church at the start of its service, so that it was overflowing with wild piping and the granite was racked with music. And then at the end we followed them off down the hill, into the rain.
There is something a bit magical about marching through the countryside.
In the church I heard a man say it was wrong, but I love the world, and I love it dearly. As the first crisp, shivery bits of autumn set in I find I love everything ten times more. This evening stirring cocoa on the stove, cool crisp air came in at the window, bringing voices from the street, and from another direction a single pair of high heels ringing hollowly on the pavement, and it came back to me just how much I look forward to hearing these sounds on autumn nights.
Saturday, after working in the market all day, selling things in the chill and rain, I came home and lit the fire. All evening I worked at my copper plates amid the crackling and popping, as if I were in an engine room at the boiling centre of everything.
Summer and autumn are running zigzags past each other. I noticed the other day that our calendar rather strangely and abruptly runs out of pages after August. How funny to see it written so plainly that we are reaching out, out into uncharted waters now. The lease is almost up as well, and there are so many decisions to make. Time to gather acorns, I suppose.