Always Greener

Sunny weather always comes with many things hot on its heels: the return of ice-cream vans from whatever nomadic migration they undertake during the winter months, the frequent sight of people in incredibly ill-advised shorts, and notably, the necessity for much mowing among the general populace.

The smell of freshly-cut grass is one of our most beloved sensory invocations of the summertime (unless of course you suffer from hay-fever, in which case it probably makes you want to jam a Flymo down someone's throat). Along with the smoke of smouldering charcoal and sizzling burgers, it really signals that long, lackadaisical days are upon us.

That chlorophyll tang was unmistakable in the air today, along with the sea-salt as I walked from Glasson down to Cockerham. The wind was up, blowing forcefully enough to chill my hands into winter-numbness. And in the breeze, the fresh cuttings leapt up and scoured the landscape, like the great dust-storms of the American south witnessed by John Steinbeck and Woody Guthrie. A grass-storm, blowing blades up to the heavens, cleansing the land and laying a fresh carpet ready for the summer's advent.