Autumn Thoughts

An Autumnal chill creeps slow and surely into summers wake. Four days ago when I woke up and sat outside to drink my morning cup of tea, well, I could smell it in the air. Something had changed. Not just a drop in temperature, but a definite difference in the atmosphere. A tipping point – the scale of summer’s dwindling finally turns to Autumn’s rise. The shorter days are noticeable now. The plants that bloomed and blushed in summer’s glow (and didn’t we have a glorious summer’s sunshine this year?), are now tired, wilting, I can see they’ve had enough. Their strength begins to seep back down into their roots, a time to rest before it all starts again anew next year.

I feel it too. While I still sit outside every day, watch as the apples ripen and birds steal my blackcurrant berries, dragonflies careen from hedge to fence and back again in search of water, I know these days are coming to an end. Thoughts turn towards more indoor activities. I am better able to concentrate on writing and painting. A new school year approaches and Jay and I make plans of places we can go and other things he’d like to do.

I like it. I like the changing seasons. It is one of the reasons I wouldn’t want to live anywhere but the British Isles. We are blessed here to have the best of it all when it comes to the weather – perhaps that is why us British like to talk about it so much? We complain, but I think secretly we are thankful. Thankful for the rains that keep our green lands green, our meadows filled with wildflowers and our gardens – well – gardens rather than yards. And if it weren’t for the fact that our wonderful hot summers or even a single day of sunshine or snow, were so rare, we wouldn’t appreciate them half as much as we do.

“That country where it is always turning late in the year. That country where the hills are fog and the rivers are mist; where noons go quickly, dusks and twilights linger, and midnights stay. That country composed in the main of cellars, sub-cellars, coal-bins, closets, attics, and pantries faced away from the sun. That country whose people are autumn people, thinking only autumn thoughts. Whose people passing at night on the empty walks sound like rain.” 

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