summer

Autumn

Sitting in a coffee shop underneath the arches waiting for my train to arrive. All manner of people, Bristol people, venturing in and out, collecting baked goods created in front of their eyes, too bleary to understand the lack of mystery. Various fashion, individualism, collective lives, coffee. Expectant and a little fraught, a workday in early September provides a unique buzz. The calm beauty of summer gradually seeping away towards getting your head down for the graft of winter. Jumpers and jackets back out of storage, straight away, no real meander but straight back into the thick of it. No time to sit and contemplate what has been, just marching on to the next stage, free flowing downhill into the abyss of winter.

The lcy coldness of early autumn mornings, where the memory of summer is still present but the heat is starting to dissipate. Skies radiate with an orange, purple blue cobalt metallic quality, much lighter than in previous months, a pastel thinness as the light is lower and less intense. The sun more gradually rising, a lower trajectory that adds greater interest like the lamps you have in your rooms rather than the over bright overhead light. Birds seem to talk and fly more delicately, less insistent, waning in energy as they start the process of either heading south or hunkering down. The squawking youthfulness of spring and summer replaced by a thoughtful resigning to the gradual onset of darker and colder times. Like the birds I sometimes get Seasonal Adjustment Disorder, sadden by the onset of darker, colder and often wetter times. The lack of light proving difficult to cope with. I love wrapping up and kicking through fallen leaves on country paths or city avenues, my camera coming to life as vistas take on greater interest, the flatness of summer replaced by interest and hue. I stare at the sky a lot more in autumn, slightly wistful but also thankful for the beauty. September, which veers uneasily between seasons, getting colder but often dry and mini heatwaves providing the last remembrance of fanciful summer times. The last chance to dive into the sea, it’s warmest time of the year, a fitting memory of immersing in nature. The classic colourful months of autumn. Woodland walks. The last chance of light. Bitter sweet. The end of something and the start of the new although it feels more like gradually disappearing, going into a cave, going underground, darkness enveloping. Memories of light transferred into darker days. Wet, cold, neon lights. Avenues of golden trees glinting in the lowering sunlight, rays softly etching patterns on the forest floor. Autumn seems to start earlier every year, snatching summer moments before they have even been fulfilled. Leaves browning and falling in July. I am sure that never happened in my youth where long hot summers seemed to stretch for eternity. Now though early autumn provides a somnambulant air, sleepwalking into colder, wetter and shorter days, life snatched from your very grasp. Before the beautiful colours emerge, it is a prewinter state, a warning sign of life passing. Time turning. Gradual ageing. The garden goes into hibernation, plants stop growing and start to wilt. Stasis is on the horizon.

Melancholy

The end of summer bank holiday bookends from late May, a time of freshness and hope to one of remembering, thoughts, placing in time. Arranging big groups of people to get together from all corners of the globe, friends of friends. Your tribe expanding. Connecting to your partners world. Expanding the love. The end of summer August bank holiday has a moving melancholic feel, the end of something. Long days, endless sunshine, warmth, freedom, outside. The first slight chill in the air which catches you, brings up thoughts of future days huddled beside a pitch in multiple layers, a woolly hat pulled over your ears. The smell of cheap burgers and chips as the new football season roars into view. I love those months of silence, away from the constant bombardment of people kicking something round, an old bladder. In the old days it was a solid mass, sturdy boots against immovable object now replaced by soft leather slippers and a beachball. Everything is lighter nowadays which is much better when you are trying to head the thing. Picking blackberries, the garden starting to wilt and weeds grow slightly slower, the lawn has one or two cuts left in it. I often go on holiday in September because it’s cheaper and foreign climbs still retain their warmth without the crowds. There is a melancholic glow to things though, a sadness which feels healthy to indulge. Campsites gradually battering down, a wet dew meeting you as feet exit the tent. A freshness. The sky takes on a pastel consistency, peach, soft yellows. Gentle light overtaking the harshness. This bank holiday, iconic Bristol band Massive Attack played what could possibly be their last ever gig, outside on the downs, rain squalling around the band like usual. The force of staccato synth lines, bass rumblings, ethereal vocals reaching up into the atmosphere, pulling clouds together, hugging the ground. A mass of people worshipping and thinking, political slogans and messaging, vital images. This is more than a concert but a moment in time, remembering the need for action, climate, war, famine raging across the world as we party. The sound of Massive will linger in that space for ever, the Bristol air always containing familiar refrains. The sound of the place amplified. Looking around, seeing old and new friends, familiar faces from the city village in all directions come to be part of the last rights, a collective moment no one will forget. History being made while the current world is centre stage. Groups of people clinging close to each other, providing solace for times ahead. The sounds of the band drift on as the world keeps turning.

The Longest Day

The long hot days of summer are something that many of us look forward to. A yearning for sunlight hours stretching beyond infinity. In the UK this can lead from 4am to 10.30 pm but the timing and amount of light varies depending on your longitude. As author Lavinia Greenlaw ponders in the Vast Extent there is an almost overbearing happiness to sunlight, commenting on the experience of Nordic countries leading into the artic circle, when sunlight can be almost constant by mid-summer. Without the madness of throwing yourself off cliffs. The light never disappearing. Just slightly dulling before rising again. Following the rhythm of light is a healthy way to exist, waking and sleeping with nature. In the winter you need to fight through this, to rise before the sun. Days stretch out in the summer, festivals arrive, people come outside, there is a buzz of happiness and life that emanates. In the summer you can go to the beach after work, meet up with friends for a drink, go for a walk, swim. Life is so much fuller. It’s way it is so tempting to follow the sun, move to Australia every winter. There is almost a forced element to being happy in the summer though, which can be overwhelming to some people. The need to stock up on vitamin D and happiness, ready for the long gradual march through autumn and winter. As a photographer the light is less interesting in summer months. It’s too flat, overbearing, constant, whereas the glimpses through winter cast long arrowing shards that pinpoint elements, highlighting and throwing vast shadows. The colours out to sea have a metallic vibrancy in winter that is rare in summer, where the haziness adds pastel shades. Paddle boarders silhouetted in waters which seem to lose their definition, floating in mid-air, Fata Morgana. I am always waiting for the summer. The gorgeous scents emanating from hedge rows. Freshly cut grass. No mow May, wildflowers dusting the air streams and delighting visual colours. June always seems to arrive too soon. A month of change and extremes. The longest day, leading onto the nights gradually starting to get darker. The hump month. Mid way through. Festival season, the end of school and university years, the start of summer for some, the gradual waning for others. In the UK it’s a beautiful month, beach swims, country walks in shorts and sandals, gardening, after work trips to the beer garden, a run along the coast. Always with the looming figure of Glastonbury at the far end, bookending the month and providing the turning point of summer. There is a sadness to summer I can never quite put my finger on. Maybe it’s the fact that it will end. Be existing, summer shows that it will finish. A bittersweet symphony. Or maybe it’s just the hay fever which is making my eyes itch and head swell. Hot, sweaty. Waking up in a tent slightly hung over, dry, parched. The expectation of summer. Looking forward to it through the long winter months only to be disappointed when it arrives. Although some days are magical, stretching out for ever, picnics under trees, by winding rivers. A lightness to the sounds. The longest day, eternal daylight stretching beyond your imagination, a dream state. Pastel coloured shades lighting the sky, drawing pictures of longevity and life.

Festival time is coming

I am sure that most of the my female friends have a greater number of friends than my male mates. I love friends, the close bond, silly and deep chats, similarities, differences but I don’t seem to spend much time nurturing them. I have a lovely small group alongside my close family, where I nurture relationships but generally I am quite self centred. Weaving my own path through the sticks of life, slaloming around poles which appear out of nowhere or gradually emerge from the distance. Today I woke up thinking about what I was going to do in two years time, when my research contract expires. It’s miles away but felt so close this morning. Being with friends at Glastonbury is an essential experience. I love my own space but this is one location and occasion where shared experiences are vital. OK you can meet people randomly, sometimes those that you know, but having a close group around you, the right number, 1-2, is ideal. Not too many to cramp your style and flow but enough to feel the love, comforted and sharing. In a couple of weeks a festival that I help to run, The Sidmouth Jazz and Blues Festival, will start, kicking off with king go gold Tony Hadley. Spandau Ballet cut a long story short, were cool for a few months but then became one of my less liked groups of the era. Being part of a festival is a great buzz, the year of planning coming to fruition, watching the vagaries of the English weather tease you. Seeing the same faces come back to work and help. A familiarity each year but also something different. There is always a vibe, a tangible feel to certain years. The wet Glastonbury’s trudging through mud, the hot Glastonbury’s yearning for shade. It’s not the specific bands but more the feel. What are the punters up to. Fashion, actions. Being part of organising a festival you feel that deep responsibility for everyone to have a great time, and when or if they do then your heart sings. It’s all worthwhile. The nerves start to kick in with a week to go. It all becomes real. A marker for the summer. A barometer of life. I am always gutted if I don’t go to Glastonbury Festival, which I haven’t for the last 10 years. I was tired of it by 2014. Corporate nonsense taking over the freedom which used to abound in the 1980s and 90s. BBC trucks pulling up and filming everything. A great wall holding everyone in. Search lights, watch towers. It used to be so liberating, now it feels like an image of liberation, a 2D rather than 3D experience. Still good though. I’m in that brief period of excitement and slight trepidation, a couple of days before going, trying to organise a good camping spot and not accepting every single gig coming my way, although I think I’ll be too busy to see Coldplay or Shania Twain. Which is a relief. The heart of Glastonbury is still run by crews who have been there for years, Shangri la, Theatre and Circus, Bandstand, Croissant Neuf. All the fun of the fair. Packing: small tent, nuts, protein bars, coffee, Trangia, duvet, trombone, accordion, water, vitamins, suncream, shorts, sandals, trainers, hats, brightly coloured shirts, festival blanket, sunglasses, camera. Check, 1, 2.