You’re sitting next to me, sniffing the air, ears pricked up. Was there an untoward sound in the neighbourhood? You get up, stretch, ask to have your chin scratched. Then you sigh, groan and lie down, letting the late summer sun wash over your fur. Not too hot, not too cold. Perfect. You sigh again. Its just another day to you, but for us, its a big deal. You are 10. Happy Birthday, Prune.
I never thought I would say this but, it can actually get too hot. Like when its 39.6 degrees and there is no air conditioning. When the air is so warm and dry, it settles on your skin like a blanket. When the sky is a consistent, indifferent blue, like even the clouds can’t be bothered with the effort of crossing the sky. When at three in the afternoon, it is still everywhere, and by sunset, it is still scorching. The European Heatwave, which brought record-breaking temperatures to Western Europe.
I was trying to decide whether the sky or the water were more blue. Until my thoughts were interrupted by some cold drops splashing my bare legs. Dad and I were in the middle of the Grevelingenmeer, a huge body of water which is in fact a lake although it could pass for the sea, so vast and endless it is. There we were, in a bright orange kayak, a stark contrast to the blue all around us.
16 degrees. Perfectly clear, not a breeze, not a cloud. A little robin flitting about, pecking at the feeder. Sunshine yellow butterflies tangling with my hair. Prune and Suzi, sprawled on the deck in the shade. Not really a surprising scene in summer, or late spring. But this was February, in North Norfolk. And we had a whole week of this amazingly unexpected weather during my mid-term break in both Bruinisse and Fleggburgh.
Christmas morning. The moon was still visible, a large pale silhouette. The sky was lilac, and seemed to fill the windscreen. Dark coated horses ran underneath, their long manes flowing, hooves flying. Slowly a powder-pale blue seeped through the sky, the moon faded. Bare trees lined the roads, we were the only car around. There aren’t really many places left in the world that are truly peaceful. I love chaos and colour and buzz, but after a tiring first half-year teaching, peace was just what I was looking for. Peace, with a little side of adventure. And you can find both in winter in Zeeland.
You know I once hated this season. I’m a summer girl; bright sunshine, long warm days, cloudless skies. But I’ve slowly started liking Fall. And this year in Bergen, surrounded by auburn and marigold colored leaves and spiralling sycamore seeds, I decided Fall was beautiful too. Some of the sunrises; getting ready to cycle to work, dawn breaking. And the glorious evening sunlight bathing everything in a rich, buttery glow. There were still so many days of lovely weather, too. But you started to feel the shift, that it might be warm in the day, but evening’s cold air would creep in sooner and sooner. And during the week of my half-term break, it was clear what season was in charge.
That funny time of year in Europe. When the heat hangs on, but the sun takes longer to surface in the mornings, and the moon is still a feature of the sky when you first step outside. The last week of my admittedly very long summer holiday. It was hard to leave family in England, but the dogs were along for the final ride. A week in Bruinisse, a chance to enjoy our soon-to-be-home, before I started my first real job.
There are roses which grow on the side of the wall. At first as rich and red as an expensive wine, slowly fading with the sun. Prune sniffs around them indifferently, then goes to lie down in her favorite spot. Summer time. When Prune came to us seven years ago, summer was slowly ending, Fall on its way. How she used to run, wild and young and free, late summer sun dancing across her shiny fur.
You know its rare that I say this but sometimes it really is nice not to travel. At least, not during the summer when you have a huge garden and patio and the roads are crowded and the airports stuffy. Of course, there’s the weather to consider. It might never get as hot as the continent, or as bone-dry as Southern Europe, but as we like to say, rain and stuff just tend to ‘blow over’ and not linger too long. Hence, a summer at home. Which also makes sense since this is likely our last summer in Norfolk.
Those two monkeys never fail to make me laugh. I think I appreciate them even more when I’ve been away, and all their funny little quirks. This Easter we did a lot together- Holland, with Suzi lying on my lap and Prune resting her head on her in the car. Exploring the dykes, watching boats at the marina. Redwings, Suzi’s first time meeting the horses. Enjoying the garden and the new patio- sunny spring days meant the three of us could be outside often. And of course, drives in the Mini- those two love leaping in for an adventure.
Error: API requests are being delayed for this account. New posts will not be retrieved.
Log in as an administrator and view the Instagram Feed settings page for more details.
