We are walking into Indian Summer

The blackberries hang heavy and ripe on Quail Hill's second terrace, a pair of trumpeter swans have flown overhead, and as darkness falls, the sweet song of the cricket is heard.
All portents of a Good Indian Summer: the kind that lingers like an invited guest who is reluctant to leave your home because they are having too much fun.

The Diane Witch Hazel is already bringing out her Autumn paintbrush and teaching the Crocosima how to be that exact shade of orange red.

And I, not be outdone by all of these colourful shenanigans, had my toes painted a bright red Asia in preparation for the last of the season Beach Day up Island. Fingers x'd it will be nice and sunny.
Blessings to those who are enjoying the last of the summer on the beach.