It was the end of August - the time when owls hoot at night and flurries of bats swoop noiselessly over the garden. Moomin Wood was full of glow-worms, and the sea was disturbed. There was expectation and certain sadness in the air, and the harvest moon came up huge and yellow. Moomintroll had always liked those last weeks of summer most, but he didn’t really know why.
[…] ‘We sat just like this in the spring’, said Moomintroll. ‘Do you remember, we had woken up from our winter sleep and it was the very first day? And the others were still asleep.’
Snufkin nodded. He was busy making reed-boats and sailing them down the river.
‘Where are they going?’, asked Moomintroll.
‘To places where I’m not’, Snufkin said wistfully.