Two days ago, it rained. Not a passing storm, all show and spectacle for an hour, maybe two, then the dampness evaporates almost before the clouds have dissolved and by the next morning, the parched ground has sucked up every last remaining drop. No, this time it was for real. Genuine clouds and rain that hung around long enough to form puddles. And mud. I never thought I’d be so happy to see mud. The temperature dropped from the low to mid 30°C to a chilly 17°C and I found myself hunting around for a pair of socks. Of course, as everyone knows, one pair of socks doesn’t make autumn. But actually, it sort of does. Because since then, everything has changed. Cooler, yes, but there’s something different about the air, and the light glows rather than shimmers. It simply isn’t summer anymore.
While slipping into a warm pair of socks isn’t necessarily a universally recognised sign of approaching autumn, there are some late-flowering species of plant which most definitely are. In the last week or so, my central Apennine hill meadows have turned bright yellow with a massive blossoming of yellow bartsia (Odontites luteus).