No, really it is.
There are blackberries in my front garden, and look at the difference a week has made to the colour of this tree (in Mount Street Gardens, if you want to go and see for yourself).
And lots of the trees are losing their leaves already.
It feels as though the summer was so hot that it’s burnt itself out early – the trees have had to endure so much heat that they don’t have the energy left to hang onto their leaves any more.
And in the past few weeks, I’ve noticed the summer slowly starting to roll downhill into autumn. A couple of months ago it was still light when I went to bed at 10pm, and there was that crazy, slightly manic sense of never seeing proper darkness. I found I slightly missed it. But in just four months it’ll be dark most of the time, and I’ll never see my house in daylight.
Today I rode west after work, and could barely see into the sun, and remembered my first October on circuit, and how dazzling the light was as I rode along Fleet Street towards the Strand at 5pm – because the sun was dropping down to the horizon, just about to set.
I don’t know why I feel so wistful about all this though. After all, there are still a few weeks left of summer, and plenty of brisk, frosty autumn days to enjoy before it gets really cold. And winter is fun too, in a masochistic, grim endurance, look-how-hard-we-all-are kind of way. Perhaps it’s because the anticipation is the worst part, and I know now that I’m standing at the top of a long slope that I’m going to have to roll down, all the way to December 21st.
But for now, blackberry crumbles, lots more pretty leaves, and maybe we’ll squeeze in one or two more night rides, before it gets too cold. Anyone up for breakfast in Brighton in the next few weeks?
And yes. Winter number three. Here we go.