From where I sit at my desk I can see the first signs of the changing of the seasons. Gold tinges the edge of bindweed leaves, and, in the distance, I can see the trees begin to turn from their jolly summer greens to the copper, yellow, and ruby tones of Autumn. The weather has become colder and the winds a little stronger. The death of the year is on count-down, even when we have not long emerged from lockdown.
But here’s the thing. I am unreasonably happy with the fact that fall is knocking on our doors. I am an Autumn baby after all. Not only that, but I thrive more during this season and the next. The cold and storms tend to inspire me more than the heat of Spring and Summer. If ever I am in need of a nudge to get me writing, this season, in particular, seems to be the one that spurs me on the most. It is very easy to ascribe hope to the buds and babes blooming in the pre-Summer months, but the September to November quarter of the year bears gifts of its own. Samhain (or Halloween) nestles midway and is a cause for celebration before Winter is upon us. Autumn colors festoon the trees with the brightest of gems, that will soon become a musically crisp carpet. The smell of mulch and earth and bonfires stimulates our olfactory senses. The icy winds will shake us from the lazy days of June, July, and August. The dance of raindrops on the window sets my mind ablaze, far more than the bright blooms of a Summer’s day.
So, if anyone needs me, you’ll find me firmly stuck in my chair, fingers caressing the keys, or dancing through nature’s fiery ashes amongst the very naked trees (as soon as the annual shedding of leaves has happened). Inspiration, here I come.
Until next time 🙂
T.F. Webb 