Summer is moving towards its productive end in Denmark and the countryside is alive with harvest activity…
.
End of summer
.
I sense the end of summer
.
the smell of spread pig shit on heavy air, the earthy odour of newly turned soil, the pitch of tractor engines labouring to pull ploughs,
.
green fields turned gold, losing their sheen as monster-sized combine harvesters growl open-mouthed over hill after hill, a flurry of dusty activity, leaving clean shorn emptiness and straw
.
tractors and bailers hurry behind, grain trailers filled, dryers rumbling, straw bailed, hay bundled, landscape rumbling with the sound of heavy machines at work
.
onto the cleared space flock wild geese, filling land and air with loud calls, wide wing-spans, noisy comings and goings
.
the satisfactory weight of good grazing on the backs of cattle grown fat and wild and shaggy over long months on summer grass
.
apples hang heavy on low bowing trees, gardens show their deepest greens and reds, buzzing with wasps and butterflies over dropped plums
.
forests turn dark and broody, filled with the smell of fungi and the passing of seasons, moist soil hungry for leaves soon to fall
.
sound of the wind leaning to autumn, tugging at dark resisting leaves still held back by stray strands of summer’s golden hair,
.
end of lovely summer, the start of something new
.
.