Savouring late summer

When I think of late summer, I think of roadside banks and verges aglow with rosebay willowherb; of waste ground smothered by a fading spread of half-seeded meadowsweet; of long, leaning stalks of yellow grass; of ragwort and of rowans already hung with thick clusters of red berries.

I think of thistledown and spiders’ webs; of tired leaves on the trees and of riverbanks so matted and tangled with the rank profusion of spring and summer growth that you risk a sprained ankle with every step along them — which is, of course, a risk worth taking when it brings you the possibility of trout. I think of all this