Post-a-day 2: Season
There is so much I enjoy about this time of year. There are plenty of things I could lament: the passing of summer, which in the case of this particular year has not been much to lose; the shortening of the days; the chill weather; another year rapidly drawing to a close. But there is also so much in which to revel. The weather has been beautiful since Greenwich Mean Time stole an hour of daylight from the end of my days, so whilst I am becoming accustomed once more to striking out into a darkened carpark once the working day is over, the bright watery-blue skies I can see from my window at the office have lifted my mood. The crackling leaves, falling this year in vivid striking shades of carnelian and rust, chartreuse and gold, are illuminated with an ethereal fire, reds glowing like candlelight through claret in the weak winter sunshine.
I love to walk at dusk when I have the chance, and see wisps of smoke curling from chimneys as people return to their snug, centrally heated homes. The savoury smell of a bonfire plays in the air, reminding me of childhood nights spent in the perishing cold, wrapped up snug in layers of hand-knitted woollens, watching fireworks and eating hickory-smoked hot-dogs with tangy tomato sauce. The nip on ears and fingertips soothed with gloved hands and a cup of hot chocolate after a brisk walk in the park through grass crisp and frosted, rain-sodden ground frozen to the texture of fudge frosting. With the inexorable passing of the year, it also brings promise and reflection. This year has been good. The season brings to mind happy times past and puts me in the frame of mind to focus on all that is good about the present. I'm happy; content as a cat curling up against an autumnal chill in front of an open fire, burying my face in a thickly-piled rug, purring and replete.
I love to walk at dusk when I have the chance, and see wisps of smoke curling from chimneys as people return to their snug, centrally heated homes. The savoury smell of a bonfire plays in the air, reminding me of childhood nights spent in the perishing cold, wrapped up snug in layers of hand-knitted woollens, watching fireworks and eating hickory-smoked hot-dogs with tangy tomato sauce. The nip on ears and fingertips soothed with gloved hands and a cup of hot chocolate after a brisk walk in the park through grass crisp and frosted, rain-sodden ground frozen to the texture of fudge frosting. With the inexorable passing of the year, it also brings promise and reflection. This year has been good. The season brings to mind happy times past and puts me in the frame of mind to focus on all that is good about the present. I'm happy; content as a cat curling up against an autumnal chill in front of an open fire, burying my face in a thickly-piled rug, purring and replete.