Even though London is never very far from my heart, it has been on my mind a lot lately given the nature of recent events. I remember wearing long-sleeved shirts for several days in July last year, thankful for every not hot-as-hell moment. I can’t help but think of last summer this summer, when it’s so sweltering that even doing something as simple as making coffee seems a chore.

With the window air conditioning unit blaring in the front room along with a fan blowing some reprieve down the hall to the back rooms with the ceiling fans, it’s overly loud in my apartment. Add to that music turned up to a reasonable level (at the moment, Bjork’s Medulla, an album that gets more magical and beautiful the more I hear it) and I keep missing phone calls due to the current noise level.

Such heat turns me into a full-fledged night owl, operating at my best when the sun turns down and the heat abates somewhat. After sunset in the summer is somewhat magical to me, not just for the fireflies and the cicadas, but for the way that for the first time all day you can run barefoot and the ground seems cool and for the stillness in the air that lingers like the humidity.

As a child, I spent most of my summers at camp (and as a young adult working at camp) in the North Carolina mountains. I can still remember the peace that existed late at night on the way to the communal bathrooms, tiptoeing along a well-worn path, enveloped by the sounds of frogs and bugs, freed by the light of the stars. After a day of running around with the other campers, following rote routines, making macrame bracelets, this nighttime ritual seemed like a gift.

While I do love the sun and the clouds, summer belongs to the night. After spending all day trying to dodge the heat and properly hydrate, at night we’re able to focus again, working on projects that stalled as the heat index rose. So often I’m up until almost sunrise, working on projects and research in the quiet that the nighttime provides, thankful for moments of serenity I can collect after a day of basking in the hothotheat.

I find myself working less and less on my knitting and spinning and devoting more time to my current cross-stitch and embroidery projects due to their being light and less heat-inducing. I am amazed at the way that the weather dictates my craft endeavours, without me even fully realizing it. Come September, I will gravitate back towards cozy wool and itch to work the spindle, leaving my summer projects in a semi-state of abandon until its time to pack up my winter wardrobe and unearth my t-shirts and flip flops.

I wish that my political work would also cease with the seasons, but I fear that I won’t be so fortunate. Still there will be mass injustices and wars that seem useless and people that I love embroiled in them. So no matter what the medium, the message behind the work never changes. Because inherent to its inception, craft is a political endeavour.

But for now, I will continue to work in the nighttime. Lucky enough to be able to currently choose the hours of my employ, lucky enough to be able to fully enjoy the cicadas and the fireflies and the moonlight filtering in through my windows. I just wish that everyone had the luxury and the safety to not worry about the next day’s travel to work even though that stiff upper lip is omnipresent.