As the days grow shorter and the winds grow colder, the skies are emptying as species after species, flock after flock migrate south. The last to leave are the house martins as they pass overhead, small groups at a time.
This pitilessly hot summer has been characterised by ferocious late-afternoon storms with gale-force winds, bringing down a myriad of colourless twigs and half-bleached leaves prematurely torn from their branches by the strong winds.
Just one day of intense rain has put an effective full stop to one of the hottest driest summers here in Italy’s central Apennines. A few late summer flowers, the last of the insects and we’re ready for autumn.
When the stress of summer gets in the way of motivation, sometimes all you have to do is sit and wait.
In the northern hemisphere, Summer 2026 will long be remembered in shades of black, accompanied by the acrid smell of wood smoke. Sometimes our planet as we know it seems such a fragile place.
Sometimes a dried-up shrivelled leaf is all it takes to dissipate a bad dose of summer season grumpiness and re-awake creativity.
The skies are emptying, species after species, flock after flock. The swifts were the first to go in late July, followed by the bee eaters, small groups at a time, so high up they’d have gone unnoticed were it not for their distinctive warbling cry. The swallows left for Africa three weeks ago. One day they were there, the next day they weren’t. Now all that remain are the house martins. They pass overhead small groups at a time, some stay the night, roosting in trees or under eaves, a brief rest before continuing their journey.
A pause to put the feathers straight, see to a little personal hygiene.
Others arrive with the wind, briefly filling the sky as they whirl and turn against the cloud.
Then they’re gone. The empty skies, the silence… they’ll take some getting used to. It’s always been that way, a moment of melancholy. I remember as a child in the English countryside, lying with the stubble pricking my back, counting them as they passed overhead and wishing oh so hard that I could just take flight and go with them. Far away. South. And I suppose in a way I have. Italy is not Africa, but there are worse places to wait, counting the days until the skies fill again.
Adapted from an article first published in The 617 Club.
For my Italian-speaking friends (or anyone wanting to translate into another language), I recommend DeepL translator available clicking here or also as a browser extension for Google Chrome.
Per i miei amici di lingua italiana (o chiunque voglia tradurre in un’altra lingua), consiglio DeepL translator disponibile cliccando qui o anche come estensione per il browser Google Chrome.
This somewhat hysterical summer has been characterised by endless days, weeks, of pitiless sun, broken only by ferocious almost tropical late-afternoon storms with crazily strong winds, thunder and lightening, but often no more than a couple of drops of desperately needed rain. The result has been a sort of colourless pseudo-autumn, with the ground strewn with twigs and half-bleached leaves prematurely torn from their branches by the gales. Definitely not a good time to visit the woods. What this will mean for the “real” autumn which here reaches its best in late October/November, only time will tell.
For my Italian-speaking friends (or anyone wanting to translate into another language), I recommend DeepL translator available clicking here or also as a browser extension for Google Chrome.
Per i miei amici di lingua italiana (o chiunque voglia tradurre in un’altra lingua), consiglio DeepL translator disponibile cliccando qui o anche come estensione per il browser Google Chrome.
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).
Now I’d love to claim that this crooked horizon was an intentional style choice (ISC for short). But actually it was because I had become an eagerly-awaited breakfast and lunch opportunity for diverse swarms of blood-thirsty (literally) insects who mistakenly took my immobility as a sign of compliance. The need for evasive action was more important than a level horizon. Such is life.
Then there is the delightfully scented winter savory (Satureja montana)…
… and the delicately coloured but not so delicately named leadwort (Plumbago europaea).
But apart from these wondrous displays of late summer colour, my meadows are showing their age. Everything is a bit dusty, a touch shabby, a tad untidy and worn (I know the feeling).
The sun is lower now, the shadows longer.
Black on white, white on black. Looking out or looking in.
Far or near. Perspective and point of view.
There is less buzzing, less flitting. Hard to resist a touch of melancholy, knowing that soon my meadows will be silent and empty. But it’s as it should be, as it must be. These creatures have done their bit. Genes have been transmitted, the next generation is assured.
So yes, summer 2026 is officially over, at least in my books. It’s not been the easiest of times, but we (me and them) have survived. Now all that remains is to find a find a nice warm cranny somewhere to weather out the winter chills and long dark nights.
Oh yes… and of course to offer my sincere thanks to whoever invented socks. Cold feet. Just can’t abide them. So from him and me, bye for now
For my Italian-speaking friends (or anyone wanting to translate into another language), I recommend DeepL translator available clicking here or also as a browser extension for Google Chrome.
Per i miei amici di lingua italiana (o chiunque voglia tradurre in un’altra lingua), consiglio DeepL translator disponibile cliccando qui o anche come estensione per il browser Google Chrome.
Motivation is indeed hard to come by at the moment. It’s not so much the heat, that I can cope with, as the sheer amount of people and cars (above all cars) I have to contend with just to reach my habitual photo hunting grounds. Then there’s the noise, the grubbiness of it all. OK whinge over, but my reluctance to throw myself into the indecorous fray of summer tourism in our usually peaceful hilltop village explains why I was sitting sulkily on my terrace this morning, trying to find that elusive motivation to shoulder my camera bag and get out and about. I didn’t. Instead, the motivation came to me in the shape of a delightful family of swallows that decided to have breakfast a few feet from where I was sitting. That and burst mode did the rest.
Adapted from an article first published in The 617 Club.
For my Italian-speaking friends (or anyone wanting to translate into another language), I recommend DeepL translator available clicking here or also as a browser extension for Google Chrome.
Per i miei amici di lingua italiana (o chiunque voglia tradurre in un’altra lingua), consiglio DeepL translator disponibile cliccando qui o anche come estensione per il browser Google Chrome.
This is not the image I’d like to be posting, but for many of us in the northern hemisphere, our memories of Summer 2026 will forever be tinged with the sombre shades of black and accompanied by the acrid smell of wood smoke. It seems right that we don’t forget. A couple of days ago, fire broke out on the outskirts of our village in the foothills of the Italian Apennines. It was no big deal, just a small patch of wasteland, dry vegetation, some dogrose and blackthorn scrub. Given the situation in other parts of the world, I hardly like to mention it. But it makes you think. We were lucky. There was virtually no wind, the fire fighters were notified almost immediately and they managed to put it out before it spread to the adjacent trees, then from there, a small leap to the first houses in the village and some cars parked nearby. As I said, we were lucky. But when I walk past, I can’t ignore that acrid smell and it gives me the shivers. Sometimes our planet as we know it seems such a fragile place.
For my Italian-speaking friends (or anyone wanting to translate into another language), I recommend DeepL translator available clicking here or also as a browser extension for Google Chrome.
Per i miei amici di lingua italiana (o chiunque voglia tradurre in un’altra lingua), consiglio DeepL translator disponibile cliccando qui o anche come estensione per il browser Google Chrome.
I admit it, it’s a bit of a grumpy time for me right now. Too little sleep perhaps… window open for the heat, neighbour’s dog barking until the small hours, an impromptu get-together on the steps outside my window at two in the morning, you know the thing. Too many people in places I usually go for solitude. Too many cars. Above all too many cars, narrow village streets designed for feet or hooves turned into improvised car parks. Too much, too many, too fast. It’s not my world. Anyway, that’s not why you’re here of course, I just wanted to explain my state of mind when I went on my customary photo-walk yesterday morning. Inspiration nil, creativity nada. So there I was, sitting under a tree having a cantankerous conversation with a dried-up leaf lying there on a stone beside me minding its own business… well actually, it was pretty one-sided. Shrivelled-up leaves aren’t known for being great conversationalists, being dead and all that.
Then suddenly I stopped in mid whinge. Hang on (I thought), the curve of those veins actually looks pretty neat, and what about that hole, and just look at how the light catches those spiky bits, and… Well, before I knew it, there I was totally engrossed in exploring a withered leaf that all of a sudden had become the epicentre of my universe.
The results are certainly not going to win me any of the competitions I wouldn’t enter anyway, but viewing them together they seem to have something to say. If only that you need to let go (by “you”, I obviously mean “I”). You can’t force inspiration, you can’t oblige creativity to just appear as if from a genie’s bottle. Or at least, I can’t. But it never hurts to just get out there and open up to what’s around. So that’s what I’m about to do, while “they” are still yawning and wondering whether to have a second cup of coffee. Over and out. Che la luce sia con voi.
For my Italian-speaking friends (or anyone wanting to translate into another language), I recommend DeepL translator available clicking here or also as a browser extension for Google Chrome.
Per i miei amici di lingua italiana (o chiunque voglia tradurre in un’altra lingua), consiglio DeepL translator disponibile cliccando qui o anche come estensione per il browser Google Chrome.
It was not to be. This afternoon I charged up my personal force field and gathered all my available courage with the intention of dabbling with a little “urban” in a nearby town. Evidently it was not my destiny. After weeks without the tiniest drop of rain, five minutes before I reached the car park, the heavens opened and it poured. Not just a quick summer storm, a veritable cloudburst. Now given the wildfire situation hereabouts, I’ve been praying to all the gods of all times for just such rain and I am truly and profoundly grateful that finally they decided to answer my prayers. But right then? Right there? I did venture briefly out of the car and took a couple of hasty snaps from under the umbrella, but it was not at all what I had been hoping for. But on the positive side, the downpour may well have got the wildfires well under control. Time will tell 🤞🤞🤞🤞.
For my Italian-speaking friends (or anyone wanting to translate into another language), I recommend DeepL translator available clicking here or also as a browser extension for Google Chrome.
Per i miei amici di lingua italiana (o chiunque voglia tradurre in un’altra lingua), consiglio DeepL translator disponibile cliccando qui o anche come estensione per il browser Google Chrome.
Nothing fancy. A quick walk just after dawn. Isn’t it incredible what a difference light can make to the most ordinary of subjects? Miraculous even.
How lucky we “hunters of light” are to appreciate those little things. Just a few seconds, an angle changes by a couple of degrees, a leaf shifts in the breeze, shimmering, shifting… that’s all it takes to remain spellbound.
It’s as if for an instant, that was the light we’d been waiting our whole life for. That particular light and no other.
Then it’s gone and we’re left with a vague anxiety, a creeping apprehension, wondering whether we’ve succeeded in “capturing” that energy, transposing those photons into pixels and memories.
There’s the light that pierces and penetrates. Translucency and opacity. Textures revealed.
There’s the light that frames. Shadows and shapes that ripple and stir, refusing to hold still while we fiddle with knobs and dials.
There’s the gentle, compliant light that whispers rather than shouts.
And there’s the light that reflects, whether we want it or not.
And fellow “hunters of light” there I am, reflected in the uncompromisingly shiny surface of these industrious ants, engrossed in their preparations for winter. I could, of course, have eliminated myself with a few clicks, but I rather like being there, or rather, being here with you. Che la luce sia dolce con voi… which roughly translates as: “May the light be kind to you”, but it sounds so much better in Italian.
Adapted from an article first published in The 617 Club.
For my Italian-speaking friends (or anyone wanting to translate into another language), I recommend DeepL translator available clicking here or also as a browser extension for Google Chrome.
Per i miei amici di lingua italiana (o chiunque voglia tradurre in un’altra lingua), consiglio DeepL translator disponibile cliccando qui o anche come estensione per il browser Google Chrome.
Images I’d much rather not have shot, but after the last few few days with the Canadair fire fighting planes passing continuously over my home, it seems right to share them with you, if nothing else as a tribute to the pilots who are my undisputed heroes. Compared with the situation in so many other places throughout the northern hemisphere, we’re the lucky ones, at least for now. Our immediate area is so far unscathed, but there at least four different fires burning at the moment within a 50 km radius from where we live, mostly “just” tinder-dry grassland and juniper scrub, but the damage is extensive. With high temperatures, no sign of rain and a hot, dry wind, the fight is to prevent it from reaching the woods and forests and, of course, people’s homes. What makes me so angry is that the largest and fiercest was certainly started deliberately, the investigators have already found an incendiary device, ignited in the place and at the moment when it was likely to do most damage. Tragically the use of fire as a weapon for extortion, protest or vendetta is not uncommon hereabouts. The fire risk is at its peak for the next ten days, so I live with my fingers crossed. Here’s hoping.
Adapted from an article first published in The 617 Club.
For my Italian-speaking friends (or anyone wanting to translate into another language), I recommend DeepL translator available clicking here or also as a browser extension for Google Chrome.
Per i miei amici di lingua italiana (o chiunque voglia tradurre in un’altra lingua), consiglio DeepL translator disponibile cliccando qui o anche come estensione per il browser Google Chrome.
You’re not my friend anymore. Did I shout it out loud? I can’t be sure, but when I listened there was no echo. Silence. There are just two moments in the year when the silence is so, well, silent, you can hear your own pulse pumping away in your ears. The deepest of deep cold in January through February when the light acquires a crystalline fragility, so brittle you find yourself whispering for fear it might splinter. And midsummer when the temperature creeps into the high thirties and even the air seems to sweat. Like today.
The quietness isn’t the stillness of peace, but rather of an uneasy waiting… for shade, for a breeze, for (dare I say it) a cloud. The crickets and cicadas have fallen silent. Birdsong is a distant memory. A buzzard calls once, twice. The rippling call of a golden oriole out of sight in the branches that stand between me and… you’re not my friend anymore!
That time I did say it out loud, a bit sheepishly I admit, but there’s no-one around to hear. No-one else crazy enough to be out there in my crunchy sun-dried meadows, scorched to a crisp by… it, him, my enemy of today. The sun.
I’ve never got on well with those bossy types, overbearing, so sure of themselves. And that exactly describes the sun yesterday, today, tomorrow, who knows for how long. From the moment the first rays escape from behind the mountain, it’s up there glaring, blazing, blinding, greedily sucking up every last drop of moisture from the ground, bleaching flowers, withering leaves without a care in the world.
My meadows… they’re tired. Dusty. Held together with cobwebs in that silence of waiting; patient as befits a nature accustomed to the never-ending cycle of the seasons.
But all is not over. Far from it. For some, the party’s just begun…
My meadows are tired and truth be told, so am I. This heat is good for drowsiness, not so great for sleep. But we wait patiently (more or less) for the next chapter to unfold, that miraculous second spring that will follow the first late summer rain. It won’t be long now, and I’ll be out there, shaking the dust from my boots, to follow its progress.
For my Italian-speaking friends (or anyone wanting to translate into another language), I recommend DeepL translator available clicking here or also as a browser extension for Google Chrome.
Per i miei amici di lingua italiana (o chiunque voglia tradurre in un’altra lingua), consiglio DeepL translator disponibile cliccando qui o anche come estensione per il browser Google Chrome.
