This has been a really hot summer in the U.K. I can never remember a summer like this. Sure, in childhood, summers always seemed warmer. I look back on summers spent outside, but that’s maybe my memory tricking me, forgetting all the days spent indoors, drawing, painting, reading... while it rained and rained. Because in adulthood, well, you expect rainy summers living here. You dress for impending rain. But this summer, we had weeks of sunshine, and low rivers and parched grass. And we had sunsets. Oh did we have sunsets...
My favourite, back on July 6, if there’s such a thing as a favourite sunset, was when we packed a picnic and headed down the coast to the John Muir Country Park just outside Dunbar. We sat on a log washed up on the beach, watching as the sun set over the bay, trying to soak in every second of that moment, knowing that the promise of moments like this are what keep you going through dark and dare I say bleak winter days. Because the lack of light is the hardest thing of all. Every winter, it’s a struggle. I live for light moments, outdoors, in nature.
And many of those light moments have been at the moodier end of the spectrum, the last light just before darkness falls. Or when light suddenly streams through the clouds, glowing and ethereal.
Yes, these are the moments of July, the skies of July, the memories of this summer, that I will carry forward. Like this, on our local beach. I spotted these people taking photos and ran down to capture them as the sun was setting over the hills of Fife.
And this, July 6, in two parts...
May these light moments hold tight in our minds as we edge into autumn.
Shot on iPhone