The Last Gifts of Summer

There is always a point towards the end of August when I realise that summer is starting to disappear, even though technically nothing much has changed yet. We can still have those really warm afternoons where it feels impossible to imagine wearing a jumper again, the garden is still full of colour and there are still evenings when sitting outside until late doesn't seem unreasonable. But there are little things that start giving it away. The evenings aren't quite as long, there's a different coolness in the mornings and the hedgerows suddenly seem to be offering up everything they've been growing all summer.

I think that's one of my favourite things about this particular part of the year. It isn't quite summer anymore, but it isn't autumn either, and for a little while we're allowed to sit somewhere in between the two.

The blackberries are probably the biggest giveaway for me. One minute they're small green berries hidden amongst the leaves and then suddenly they're everywhere, dark and glossy and practically begging to be picked. There are apples beginning to appear on the trees, seeds drying out, sunflowers getting heavy with their heads and herbs starting to flower for the last time. The garden looks slightly more wild than it did a few weeks ago, but I think there's something lovely about that too. Everything is reaching the end of its growing season and, rather than simply stopping, it is busy producing something to carry forward.

I've been thinking about that a lot lately, because we tend to think about harvest as being something very literal. We gather the crops, pick the fruit, save the seeds and prepare for winter. But there is another kind of harvest that happens in our own lives, and I think late summer is a good time to notice it.

What has actually grown since the beginning of the year?

Not just the things you planned to achieve, but the things that happened without you necessarily noticing. Maybe you've learnt something about yourself, started something new, become more confident in something you were unsure about, or simply managed to get through a period that was harder than you expected. Maybe something you planted months ago is finally beginning to make sense.

I think we can be quite bad at recognising those things. It's very easy to look at what we haven't done yet and completely overlook everything that has happened along the way. There is always another goal, another project, another thing we should apparently be doing, and sometimes it feels as though we're constantly measuring ourselves against where we think we should be rather than noticing where we actually are.

The end of summer feels like a good excuse to stop doing that for a moment.

We don't have to have everything figured out before September arrives. We don't have to suddenly become organised, productive and full of new intentions just because the calendar is moving towards autumn. We can simply look around and acknowledge what this season has given us.

For me, there is something comforting about the fact that nature doesn't seem particularly bothered about whether it has done enough. The blackberry doesn't worry about whether it grew quickly enough; it simply ripens when it is ready. The sunflower doesn't spend August wondering whether it should have been doing more with its summer. Everything has its own rhythm, and eventually the season changes whether we're ready for it or not.

Perhaps that's why I like this little in-between period so much.

Summer hasn't completely gone, so we can still enjoy it. But autumn is close enough that we can start noticing the little changes without feeling as though we're rushing towards them. We can pick the last of the blackberries, sit outside while the evenings are still warm, enjoy the flowers that are hanging on and start thinking about the season ahead without needing to leave this one behind too quickly.

I think there is something to be said for allowing ourselves to exist in those in-between spaces too. Not everything in life needs a definite beginning and ending, and sometimes we're somewhere between one version of ourselves and another without really knowing what comes next. It can be uncomfortable, but it can also be where quite a lot of change happens.

So before September arrives, I'm trying to pay a little more attention to what is still here.

The warm afternoons, the last long evenings, the berries along the hedgerows, the slightly chaotic garden, the little things that made this summer what it was.

And I'm trying to remember that I don't have to hold onto any of it.

The seasons are going to change whether I cling to them or not, so perhaps the better thing to do is simply enjoy what is left, gather up the good bits and let the rest go.

Summer still has a few gifts left to give.

I'm going to try to notice them.