The last days of summer

I felt happy this morning when I woke up to a golden-red glow in the sky that is usually the precursor of a storm. 'Red sky in the morning, shepherd's warning', goes the old adage. Today, it was perfectly true. I am writing this to the staccato rhythm of pouring rain and crashes and booms of thunder. The swallows have returned again, heralding the end of one season and the start of the next. Even the rain does not stop them from their incessant, happy chirping. They lift up my spirits with their twittering as nothing seems to dampen their spirits. I must learn to be more like the swallows.

Last week, when I wrote Frayed at the edges, I was complaining about the heat and the lack of rain. A few hours after that post went live, the rain came. Almost as if I had called it. And it returned this weekend. Everything looks so much the better and cleaner for it and, although I know the heat and humidity will return, the promise of a new season is there. Autumn is just one more week away and so it is time to celebrate the last days of summer.

Perhaps because we didn't travel anywhere and no one came to visit us, this summer seemed longer than ever. But even I cannot help but mourn the end of summer. In many ways, this one has been relaxing. I tried to march to the beat of my own drum. Doing things when I felt like it and  not necessarily according to any schedule. And I think it worked. It wasn't as carefree as I would have liked because COVID was, and still is, there in the background, threatening to strike if we let down our guard. But this year we've had fun. We've been swimming more times than has ever been possible in all the years we have been married, even going to some beaches that I hadn't visited in years. Indeed, I think the last time I went to one of them was an odd 40 years ago, when I was just a child.

This August, we finally went to Trattoria Zero Sei: Roman cuisine right in the heart of  Valletta. We were told that all the workers are from Rome and, apart from the excellent food and super-fast service, they were excellent hosts, making us feel right at home in that very Italian and unique way. It's definitely another restaurant we will be visiting again.

So where am I going with all this? Probably nowhere. I suppose I just want to celebrate the last few days of a dying season because, now that the weather has broken, I tend to forget how hot and horrible August was. Instead I'll think of sun-kissed skin, sun dresses, sandals, straw hats and linen pants. I will remember the juicy peaches we ate, the sweet-as-nectar local grapes and the prickly pears - nice and cold, straight out of the fridge. I will sigh with longing over long and lazy summer afternoons spent napping and reading (alternately) on our  couch. And I will wonder when the cicadas and crickets will be back - the first shattering the peace with its ear-splitting screech and the second lulling us to sleep with its gentle song.

But right now its time for a week of lasts: last barbecue, last swim (although if the heat returns we could be swimming right into October), last ice-cream (that's highly debatable), last chance to make memories before the chilly days return.

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