Round here, nature is at last doing autumn properly, instead of lazily slinging a cloudful of water our way and calling it a season.
Suddenly, it’s cold. Whatever time of day or evening you venture out, you can smell the wood-smoke from people’s log fires, and see ambitiously-stacked
spider sanctuaries log-piles leaning against the walls of thatched cottages. In the evening, I pour a glass of red wine and sit down beside our own fire. Then, – more often than not – I immediately shriek and jump up again because I’ve accidentally sat on a spiky bit of Lego. (Thanks, twinnage.) Naturally, there is knitting involved in this part of the day, too. It’s good to relax after a hard time down the psychology mines*. Here’s tonight’s effort:-
Suddenly this past week or two, we’re surrounded by gorgeous fiery leafy colours, and the twinnage are asking important questions about the life cycle of trees. Well, one of them is: the one who has appointed himself Official Acquirer Of Twinnage Knowledge. His brother listens, quietly.
The boys are also asking anxious questions about Whether At Last It Will Snow This Winter, as they are still of an age where they think that their mum knows stuff and can answer these things.
I try to provide an answer that won’t eventually lead to that terrible accusation, “But Mummy, you said…”, whilst not entirely crushing hope (theirs or mine), and also hinting at how as a species, our reckless misuse of resources is making the climate turn a tiny bit wobblesome and changeable, thus rendering it impossible to reliably promise snow to six-year-olds if you’re anywhere south of the Arctic Circle. They frown, puzzled, and appear to mentally file my answer away under ‘Mummy’s weird rants about stuff’. (It’s a big file.)
I hope we do have snow this winter. And some pretty frost. You can remind me of that in a few months’ time when I’m grumbling about the veneer of ice on the inside of my bedroom window. (I used to think that I must have imagined memories of ice on the inside of the windows as a child, but then the winter after we moved here to the brewery, it happened.)
Anyway, mustn’t grumble. At least autumn gives you an excuse to wear all of your hand-knits at once.
∗ Job-related phrase sneakily stolen from the wit of Narf, cos I’m a plagiaristic thief.