Signs of the season have sprung up, almost suddenly. Time slips off the calendar like a best friend trying to hide a secret, quiet and full of haste. Here I stand at the yawning late half of the year when everything must rest in order to start again and for the first time in a long time, I am in step with it. I’ve regained the rhythm that has been so foreign, I can look at the calendar and see the future with soft eyes.