Summer 2014

28.

On the first day of August I smell the autumn. So it is true then Irish people say about seasons in Ireland change a month earlier than in the rest of Europe. 

I like autumn. Especially the early one. When the smell of pastry takes over the smell of flowers, sun and sand; when yellow colour starts to adopt deeper and deeper shade which eventually turns orange... When the wind starts blowing cobwebs into your face, instead of those white fluffy things which looks like stars and floats in the air in summer months- we call them 'happiness' in my home land... They are very light and transparent, it is hard to catch them, but if you do- you'll hold happy times in your hand! I catch it, make a wish, thank and let them fly again to cheer somebody else for a second. 'Happiness is only real when it's shared' people say. May it be the tiniest and only a moment lasting- it's still a gift though, given or accepted- smile!

In autumn you slow down your steps... You start to intrigue your mind to summarise those innocent summer days which splashed sunniest joy around, just like your silk dresses, which danced in warm breeze together with those 'happiness's'. You choose a cup cake to accompany your coffee instead of an ice-cream and pull Dostoyevsky from a book shelf, leaving the funky stories of nobody knows writers in it's place... Your eyes starts catching woolly cardigans in second hand shops and your fingers starts searching Google for some educational course which will expand your horizons and make you trip in a planet of knowledge... In autumn you watch the boats leaving a harbour, eat organic apples and make a message in a bottle to throw into the sea- this is my goodbye to summer invented tradition... Then season of blackberries, pumpkin soup, black tea, spoon of honey every evening, spicy incense smells and woollen socks, which you have full drawer, greets you...

 

From the swings with the wings

we'll settle onto a boat

to canoe our way

towards an orange stillness

mental harvest

has to be ripped...

 

There might be no blackberry heaven this year, Sunshine. But it will be plenty of live jazz, different writers and writings, new harbour, an airport twenty minutes away and, maybe, even somebody's hand to hold on to... Stay safe, warm, open and happy!

 

Briga Saulė, 2014

Briga Saulė, 2014

by Brigita Stasun