When I got home from my trip to London earlier this week, the child-like part of my mind expressed a thought "have I teleported from London back home?" I could remember the journey vividly, but I was struck by the stark difference by evening: in the morning, I was looking at tall model buildings, the Thames, a Cathedral. In the evening, I was back to the familiar.
I have become fond of noting the differences as the seasons change. To become more aware of those transition periods. The destination is a new season, four times a year. But how did we get there? What parts of nature are only to be experienced in the transition moments. The moments between then and now.
Autumn is approaching. The leaves are changing colour. I looked out the window yesterday afternoon and said to myself "have the leaves become more orange since the morning?" I delighted in the changes in colours. The exercise of thinking about the trees. I pondered for how long the roses growing outside -- now six in number -- will be in full bloom. I am already excited for next year and the opportunity to nurture the roses more now I know they are not weeds (the thorns were confusing for a plant novice such as I!).
I am sitting in a cafe with its door wide open but I have my coat on. It is chilly. Is the door being open expressing a subconsious willingness for summer to stick around for one or two more days? I will never know.
I can see a few orange leaves on the trees. As I look up further, I see more; yellows, oranges.
Autumn is here. The season of pumpkin spiced lattes. Cardigans. Taylor Swift. Cosiness. Warmer slippers.
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