That hot spell we had this summer has faded well into the past (not unlike my last blog post), and now we’re into September, with the leaves on the horse-chestnut trees rusting and withering (I remember when they used to sign off with a brilliant rastafarian display, but now they all have some sort of blight) and the sunlight getting paler and slantier. Kids will be back at school next week. I think I can stop waiting for summer to resume.
G hasn’t had time to construct weird hangups about seasons and weather and the passage of time. The fact that it’s cooler out doesn’t seem to fill her with a sense of foreboding, nor even to stop her from wanting to go into the wading pool at the park.
Even if I am on the verge of hibernation, I recognize a usable patch of sunlight when I see one. The other day I drew the line at filling her little pool, but we set up finger paints outside instead. Just two colours this time; no real need for more, since she squidges her hands around in all available pots until they converge to a uniform, sickly colour.
I got a bucket of water ready for her to rinse the goop off her hands before going inside.
I guess she would have preferred the pool.
At least this pool is one she can empty by herself.