Every day I wake up and check the weather. I’m an obsessive. I’m from the North West suburbs of London originally, but have lived in the North East for going on 15 years – now almost as long as I lived in Watford for, growing up. I compare temperatures, and down South always wins, to the tune of 5 degrees or more.
But sometimes I get a reminder that my dismay over the temperature difference is, well, a bit trivial. Of course I’d like it to be a little more balmy here, but that’s not going to happen. And when September comes here… well, my disgruntlement dissipates.
Today, the morning drizzle gives way and the clouds begin to disperse, slowly creeping until the whole vista is wide and blue. The sun flares on the sea, and as we turn into the dunes a lovely warmth is spreading.
A group of horses enjoy the afternoon sun. One is already lying, legs in the air, asleep. Another starts to roll and whinnie: joy given flesh. The dozing horse starts to kick and I realise the animal is dreaming. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a horse dream.
Nature is happily breathing out. A grasshopper is flirting with a female in the dune grass, its scratchy song seems to be doing the job. A caterpillar undulates across the dune path. Black slugs gather and commune.
As we make our way back to Beadnell after a coffee at Low Newton, the evening light is mellowing. Curlews pipe and fly back and forth along the estuary and adjacent fields. Cows gather and press in curiosity at our backs (slightly alarmingly). Late swallows and martins gather a glut of flies. Starlings mass on the telegraph lines and the noise is… wonderful.
September is the sweetest month.