It was merely a few weeks ago, when walking back from a swim at the leisure spa, that I escaped into the shade of the tree-lined pavement, just to stay cool. It was as hot at seven-thirty in the evening as at three in the afternoon.
Tonight, feeling chilled and wearing a hoodie, I avoided the shadows and walked into the retreating patches of still-warm sunlight. Curled, brown leaves had collected in drifts at footpath edges. In the low light, under a cloudy sky, I could have been taking a walk in an autumn breeze, rather than a stroll on a mid-August evening.
At home the burnished lawn is shaking off its straw covering and tussocks of green appear like tufts of hair on a balding skull. Ferns, collapsed in the heat, have righted themselves. I’m glad I didn’t waste precious energy cutting them back. Nature has provided its own remedy.
Soon the plants I bought for ‘mum’s garden’ will go into their flower beds as the soil dampens and loses its cracked, parched form.
The replenished pond needs to be cleared of duck-weed and wild, wispy stems of rambler roses and honeysuckle need cutting too.
Potted tomato plants, so thirsty only days ago, are rejuvenated and reward us with round, ripe, red fruit. My French beans are losing their dried leaves to yield bright green growth, new flowers and another crop of pods which will fill out now the rains have come.
But would we have had it any other way? Would we have wanted grey skies, cool evenings, wet lunchtimes, dull afternoons and more weeding than watering? A heat wave can show us a new way of being. It makes us value water as a vital commodity, a precious necessity. I don’t miss the heat. But I will.
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