The dial’s changed to summer, with intermittent cross-broadcasting bouts of cold spring and wet autumn filtering in. It’s still Scotland, after all.
Wet pavements and foot-ways have changed from dark, splashy marl slabs or muddy, oozing foot puzzles to muted, boney hues. Shoes come home clean and dry. Jackets sometimes stay on the hook. Everything’s easier.
Petaled, leafy performers in gardens come back every year to play the same show. It’s as if they discuss wardrobe all winter, then reveal themselves; the same but different to the same but different audience.