The Last Threads of Summer: A Visual Poem
The delicate beauty of a liminal micro-season, from misty mornings to first frost
Greetings from the moss,
An extra layer and neck warmer join fleece hat and fingerless gloves; today it is cold. On the moss the still green leaves of the youngest birch are edged in white, the first frost drawing a line around it all.
Loud barking echoes, mingling with the sounds of morning traffic on still air. I am the intruder here: I never see the roe buck but he gradually circles my position. Later, a herd of red deer burst out of the wood and run across the moss, too many to count.
Summer hangs by a thread. Heather flowers, like crystallised cake decorations, and vivid fallen birch leaves are held by silk strands.
Arctic starflower/chickweed wintergreen adds soft terracotta amid the sparkle of grass and rush.
Time seems to have accelerated in the last two weeks. If August can seem a slow month, September brings work and study to the fore. Ten days in I have more than I can possibly share in the time I have left to write this letter. Showers have brought much needed moisture. Clear skies mean the sun has warmed the days but the nights have been chill. And wraiths of mist—oh the magic of it, the assault on the senses. The contrast between the natural world and the human one has never seemed greater.
Summer still hangs, by a thread. These are the photographs of this liminal micro season that I will share with you now, with a promise of mist and moisture next time.
The evening after I write this I read
’s poem Bloom, fruit & decay, an evocative noticing of September’s perfect and imperfect beauty. I think you will enjoy it.
And if this photo essay resonates with you, consider a small contribution towards a coffee or a sketchbook. Your support helps me keep sharing these stories one photo, one page, at a time.
Each day I add a memory of things observed, collected; small experiments on paper with which to remember this place. Here is one of them.
Until next week,
Postscript
On Monday morning I met a cold damp and decidedly static bumble bee. From appearance it seemed to have spent the night on this devil’s bit scabious flower. Possibly a carder bee—perhaps my knowledgeable friends will enlighten me—but not, in my book, in any way ‘common’.
Words and images copyright © Michela Griffith 2025 except where otherwise credited
Stunning 🤩
These images are absolutely stunning. Thank you always for your lovely letters!