The Bru Diaries- Early Summer

After the wettest February on record, there came the driest May. And a taste of early summer; of sunbaked soil and burnt-out fields, bright skies and light-filled evenings.

The sun rises early. I’m woken by a chorus of birds competing outside my window for loudest call, whilst the white light of morning fills my room. Sunlight dances across the treetops and the sky is a pale, promising blue. Suzi and Prune amble down the sleepy streets, ducklings swim through the shallow canals, their downy yellow heads bobbing in a line behind their mothers. The flowers slowly open, turning to the sun.

The landscape is khaki; fields are dry and the hedgerows are green, the countryside at midday alive with the hum of insects and the chirps of crickets. A warm breeze shakes fluffy white seeds across the path, which could almost be mistaken for snow flurries, were it not pushing 20 degrees.

There are birds and sounds and clouds like swirls of milk across a rich coffee, and the sky is large and welcoming. There is sunlight and warmth and long, dry grass growing everywhere. There is the call of a lonely bird of prey, echoing across the dykes and drying rivers.

There’s nothing quite like this time of year.

Hello again, from Bruinisse. Hope that everyone is okay and finding some joy in the small things right now. Love xx