Sunday, November 9


As I write this glancing down into the garden, the leaves are relinquishing their increasingly tenuous hold high amongst the old oak tree. It should be a gentle slip-sliding to the ground, to drift gracefully atop a carpet of golden brown. Instead the scene more closely resembles an artillery barrage of wind and rain driven missiles plummeting earthwards, such that each morning our cars, parked beneath the tree, are coming to resemble some hallucinogenic stoked perversion of a pimp-my-ride TV collaboration.

I used to love Autumnal days. Mysterious wispy tendrils of fog & mist with that heightened awareness of smell that seemed to hang in the chilling evening air, especially around this time of year - bonfire night.

But since my move to the south coast, so many years ago, Spring, that season of lengthening days and its air of renewal and hope has replaced Autumn in my affections. And much like a born again non-smoker, my spirit is now slightly vengeful towards these laggard and shortening days late in the year. Even more so this year after a brief respite on a sun kissed shore where the word frost is not in the local language, and the sun's warmth predictable and assumed on a daily basis.

During the past few years my plans and promises dwindle, reflective of an inward withdrawal. And with it the quantity of published material falls away for a time, a trait I've recognised amongst others of my ilk this year.

For me these dog days are a chore. Something to be endured until the Winter solstice marks the return of warming days and light filled evenings.

I'm not someone who greets the appearance of snow and ice conditions with glee. My own winter walking plans are somewhat limited, despite the bonus of a more inclement southern climate. I wildcamp & backpack for enjoyment rather than as a challenge of endurance or discomfort. Others I know feel the opposite.

We each do what we feel is necessary to get us through these darkening days. And I know that for a few of you reading these words these days may be feeling much darker than in past years.

Each year the solstice brings with it a feeling of renewing freshness and that promise of new growth and refreshed vigour. A new start.

So here's to the Spring. And whatever the dark and difficult periods - things will get better as time passes. As it always does.

Labels: ,

Very resonant reflections John.
This autumn does seem inhospitable - dark and wet, new semi-permanent ponds forming everywhere, overbright leaves. A time to consult books and maps for the spring perhaps.
A good piece John. I used to love the Autumn and the smell of the fallen leaves in the garden, with the ripening mosses gaining dominance beneath the browns and golds.

But now I am looking forward to my next Spring so so much. Let's get this winter out of our way for some much needed sunshine in our lives.
Some beautiful writing there John, I personally love Autumn but you almost made me change my mind with the eloquence of your prose!
If you enjoy it, all power to your boots. Perhaps its an age thing, or whelping kids, but the rebirth of Spring just has so much damned Oooommmppphh in it for me
There's nothing like Spring to get the sap rising. As for whelping kids - that sounds as if it ought to mean giving them a damn good smack! (Only joking.)

Liked your piece.
Spring is indeed a wonderful time. But Spring can't come before winter!

As I get older I feel the seasonal cycle to be more and more wonderous, and important.

Keep writing!
Post a Comment

Links to this post:

Create a Link

<< Home

All site material © John Hee - ask before you snatch