Autumn in London

It is autumn in England. In my complaints about the shorter days and an inevitable lusting for the summer that never quite came, I had almost forgotten how beautiful autumn can be. I remembered, this morning, when I went to make my coffee and the sunlight through the kitchen window caught me by surprise. The cold seems, strangely, to bring a clarity of colours that is lost under the summer haze. A brittle blue sky, golden leaves, shots of sunlight.

I’ll go outside later with fresh eyes.

I am surprised to find that my first post for this blog is about nature. When I was at university, I used to automatically veer away from anything about nature. It was unexciting, over-sentimental, impersonal. Now I am beginning to see nature – and perceptions of nature – very differently. I had arrogantly forgotten that it provides the context that we operate from. And that when we divorce ourselves from it, as I so often do, a distance emerges that is scary. I am learning, as I get older, that there is something reassuring and rhythmic in the natural cycles, and maybe in the meanings that we take from them.

Autumn is a funny one. An ending or a beginning? Nature says one thing; society another, particularly when you’re under 18. It feels like a season of change, in the same way that spring is. Only we’re a little further down the journey and the changes are tinged with sadness and strangely majestic.

I have a tendency to over-analyse things.

You’ll probably notice this. I meant to start with an introduction or something but I’ve gone down a totally different track. Oops. I’ll save that until tomorrow when they have forecast overcast skies and rain.

Pleased to be here.

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