It’s that ‘in-between’ time of year at the moment. It’s 17ºC in the afternoon sun, I’ve just picked two dozen raspberries, the gazania are only just (finally!) coming into flower, and most trees are still green.
But, there’s a nip in the air when the sun goes down, the days feel so much shorter, and as I waited for a bus yesterday, occasional leaves fell on me, wafting down gently, like huge orange snowflakes.
Oh, and there are spiders and cobwebs everywhere! I always feel so guilty if I ruin a web (all that hard work), that I’ve found myself ‘limboing’ and crawling in the front and back garden, to get under anchor threads without breaking them. And I’ve just harvested my entire grape crop (!), and made a large jar of grape jelly.
It reminded me to dig out an old poem I wrote one October.
Still falls the rain
Washing last vestiges of Indian summer
Into muddy riverlets down the municipal drains
Heralding frost-biting, nose-tingling, dark-nighting, rugby-cheering
The smell of fireworks, and damp, dead leaves.
JJ Cale softly sings, the page is slowly printed
And I find it wasn’t what I meant to say at all.