
I always know when summer is gone – the air conditioning vents (something which I never needed in Scotland, because our idea of hot weather is one day, we all get sunburned then wonder where summer went) comes in, and the duvet gets changed from the ultra light one to our more substantial one. It’s not that it’s cold, it’s just that it’s no longer boiling. In another four weeks, I’ll be breaking out my weighted blanket. I often liken the week of transition, at least in the UK, to walking a path beside a stream. You can see everything that you’re walking towards rushing past, because for me, when it gets cold, I see all the responsibilities I have over the months, especially at Christmas. I also see all the possibilities I can grab as the flow of things slow down.
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