I’m not sure what I noticed first – the coppery tint to all the fields, the hay bales, or the rain. Probably the rain, to be honest. We’re currently sitting on the cusp of that part-magical, part-melancholy tipping point between summer and autumn. The kind of point where thick cardigans are pulled out again, and talk about the lack of sunshine becomes commonplace.
I sort of love it though. Despite the dip in temperatures and possibility of grey days ahead, there’s a thrill to it as well. Call it all the clichés: back to school sentiment, the whiff of new beginnings, another seasonal shift full of possibility. However it’s labeled, there’s a sense of opportunity - somewhere among the slightly colder mornings and shorter days. Fresh starts – just as the leaves are readying themselves to embark on that final, glorious, colourful change.
It’s a feeling that lends itself to optimism – to the beginning of new projects and completion of longstanding plans. It also ushers in a certain amount of nostalgia too. I’m already aware of a sensation of loss on recalling the heat of late June/ early July where plenty of days involved river swimming, barbecues, and drinking wine outside late into the evening. I want the warmth and the thrill of skinny-dipping at midnight under a full moon. And yet I also want the warmth of big jumpers and thrill of crisp, bright mornings full of mist. But maybe that’s because it’s always easy to crave the season that’s not currently being experienced – especially when it can be condensed down to a few picturesque scenes and memories.
There are plenty of adventures ahead though - things to write and schemes to work on, as well as a hefty amount of reading to complete. In the meantime though, I’ll be celebrating the end of summer by dancing through these last few days of August. This is being hastily written in between shoving every glittery dress I own (and the odd practical layer) into a rucksack, ready to head off to Shambala festival later today. I’m being sent by CAT boots, and will be striding around for the whole weekend in these metallic beauties – my feet shimmering through the night. Besides, as someone who usually chooses impracticality above all else, there’s something ever so satisfying in making pragmatic footwear choices that still look bloody fabulous.
Thanks to CAT for sending me off to Shambala. I'm wearing their Colorado ankle boots, here styled with a second hand, charity shopped slip dress and vintage velvet blazer. I half-froze while doing these photos - my mum and I dashing between the snug car and windy, chilly hillside - but the views were beyond magnificent.