Notes from September.
There is something delicious about the first few really rainy days after the seasons have begun their subtle shift, like a watercolour brush blending late summer into early autumn. September kicked off in a blaze of sunshine, and with many t-shirt days in between, it drew to a close shrouded in rain. It doesn’t quite feel like autumn proper, but you can smell it on the air and feel it in the drop in temperature at the edges of the day.
Walking through the trees by the pond, it feels as if there is a conversation being held, just out of my reach. But even when I pull down the hood of my waterproof jacket to hear better, the symphony of drops are still indecipherable. I don’t speak the language of rain and leaves. But I can see understanding, synchronicity and reciprocity. Leaves like outstretched hands, cupped to catch water. Funneling it rootwards, to continue its slow journey back into the atmosphere. It’s own circular economy.
Mist. Sunshine. Raindrops and dewdrops. A new quality in the light. Shorter in duration but longer in reach; its evening fingers stretch, slicing through gaps in the trees or between buildings, warming my spot on the sofa through the window. The Virginia creeper transforming into a brilliant red, a shade that stops me in my tracks every time I glimpse it out of the window. Meals outside whilst we still can. The scuffing of crisp leaves underfoot.
With the passing of the equinox, we’ve been tipped into the half of the year that is dark longer than light. Autumn brings with it mixed feelings. This can be my favourite time of year, especially when the sun is bright and crisp and clear. Sunrises and sunsets are more easily within reach, and can be spectacular. But it balances with the long anticipation of dark evenings ahead and the struggle to get outside. Also, spiders (who are apparently out and about looking for love this month).
On my most recent walk around the pond, the bright white cotton wool balls grabbed my attention out the corner of my eye. I must have walked past many of these bushes in my lifetime, yet I’d never noticed or registered them before. Something about them, snowberries, nestled into their green leaves. In a moment they seemed to remind me of all the things to look forward to as the seasons change, and that there is always beauty for those that are willing to see.