There is a decided nip in the air in the early mornings. The leaves outside my window are starting to turn from green to gorgeous shades of red and yellow and rust and they are beginning to fall into a crunchy dry carpet on the ground. The earth’s turn is almost complete. I can see from the way the sun falls in my bedroom in the mornings. We will soon be inside by the fire instead of outside by the pool. We will trade strappy tops for snugly jumpers. We will dress in peelable layers. We’ll eat soups and stews and refuse to go out in the evening because it’s too cold. We’ll take hot baths instead of quick showers at night, because hot baths warm the bones.
I suppose we can start to call this autumn. April must be autumn because May is definite winter. I tend to think of the seasons as summer and winter only. Spring is a blip. If you blink for a couple of seconds too long you can miss spring. Autumn I’ve never really noticed, I don’ think except that the leaves fall from the trees, but some stubborn hangers on are still falling two months later when spring comes along, and in that time we’ve been through and are emerging from winter.
In England I loved autumn most of all the seasons. I welcomed the sweaters and the boots and the walks in the woods, crunching through leaves. I loved that damp mossy musty smell of nature in decay. I remember on one of our horse riding jaunts we rode to the top of a hill and looked across a valley to the opposite hill, on which were so many shades of nature in early autumn. It was the misty, colourful picturesque beauty of a Gainsborough landscape. I remember sitting astride that horse and gasping and feeling so emotional because it was so exquisite. Gosh, I must have been 12 or 13yrs old then. It’s how I often feel, now, when driving through the Western Cape Mountains or through my own Eastern Cape, which I am still convinced God loves best of all.
Well, hiho, hiho! No time for musing.