September sun

September already. But still warm enough for evening dogwalks in teeshirt and shorts. Strolled up the cemetery run last night. Took the camera. Don't know why. Shot photos up there a million times already. Maybe it's that old feeling of the calm before the storm. Autumn and winter approaches. Days are shortening. Soon be dark by four. Grab the evening sun while you can. Take some snaps to get you through winter. Something to look back on. And forward to.

Strange, in winter, I often look back through my old blog postings, sometimes to read, but usually to look at summery photos. Lifts the clouds when it's cold and grey outdoors with howling wind and pouring rain. Reminds me of sunnier times. And the smell of hay on warm, gentle breezes.

Even though I've strolled the cemetery run a thousand times before, every time it's different. Take last night for example. Cloudless, blue sky. Blackberries. No rain for ages so the track's dusty. Sun low but bright. Shining through lime green leaves. Shafts of sunlight lighting up the forest floor. Swallows flying low over emerald grass, searching for insects. A distant rabbit sits motionless in the field on the right, its ears poking up against the sun. If Sprocket sees it, it's dead. I clap my hands. It scampers off. Towards the copse. Sprocket misses it. Too busy sniffing out fieldmice.

Further on, the track leads beyond the trees towards the bright, western sun. To the right, across the valley, the church bell clangs seven. The belfry visible above the churchyard trees. Our house just to the left. And Isabelle's to the right. She'll be preparing supper. Then a distant dog barks. No, two or three. That'll be Christian feeding Balou, Sarah and Duchka. I stroll on down the track. Jock behind me and Sprocket prancing through the field. Still searching for mice. Or maybe just chasing the wind.

We reach the bend where the the track darkens with forest shadows. That's far enough. We turn and head back. Following our lengthening shadows. They're bluey-purple on dusty earth. Then, just before we enter the tunnel of trees, I turn around and face the sun. A blaze of white. I shield my eyes and squint. Looking for Sprocket. I whistle. No response. Halfway through the tunnel, he bounds past. Panting. I put him on his lead. Jocks stays off. We get to the campervan. Sprock has a last roll in the warm grass, his brown eyes sparkling with orange sun. Jock wags his tail and growls for attention. He gats a pat as I grab him and sling him in. Sprock leaps in and I slide the door shut. Time to go home.