The arrival of summer(time)

It's always an unexpected delight: the arrival of British Summer Time, and with it, lighter evenings and (as it so often happens), sunnier weather. Of a sudden all those myths of summer come to mind. I am transported back to last summer, which was not that happy, but which was full of enjoyable experiences nonetheless, such as tomato and mozzarella salads in the garden, which like my skin crackled in the heat, and walking and cycling along the Transpennine Trail. This summer will be different, when I do finally move. But for the moment I am still here in that same wonderful garden, admiring and photographing the flowers, attempting to arrest the flow and impermanence of time by inscribing its immanence on some glossy photo paper to try and make it indisputable. But here, for now, I remain, and, freed from the psychological bonds of living here, I forget all the reasons for moving in the first pace. But move I must.

Labels: stockport, summer