Squash and sparklers

A weekend of misty mornings and early dusk. Of home grown squash stored in a cool conservatory, surrounded by fallen paper-dry vine leaves. Hydrangea heads drying on a wooden table, petals still tinged with pink.

A weekend of wrapping up in knitted things, scarves, gloves. Of wellington boots and a muddy park. The smell of sparklers and firework smoke. Explosions in the sky, loud and colourful. Once or twice, tearing my gaze from the magnificent display above to look back at those around me, faces upturned, eyes wide, lips parted slightly in wonder. Chips in paper, scattered with salt, dripping with vinegar. A late night arrival to a friends housewarming, and even later departure in the early hours of the morning. A lone urban fox, that paused and held our gaze for a split second, before darting away on the rain glossed tarmac.

A weekend of cozying up on sofas. Sunday morning with pancakes and a videoed episode of TV drama. Sunday afternoon catching up with some girlfriends with knitting needles, wool and lemon drizzle cake warm from the oven. Sunday night risotto supper and the heating turned on for the first time.