...I live in a world where there are Octobers.
I really am. October has a special place in my heart. But now I get to experience a bit of what L.M Montgomery meant when she wrote those words. She was speaking seasons. Or a seasonal shift that was special and unique to Octobers.
For the first time, I am getting to transition with autumn exactly as it unfolds in the northern hemisphere, with all the nuances that brings.
Friday, the eve of October, was a near perfect sunny day. I spent the afternoon sat next to the Thames with an old friend, drinking pimms and prosecco, soaking in the sunshine and company. We chatted for hours, watched swans drift by, and noted the barges on the river carrying peat and firewood for the coming cooler months.
On Saturday morning Alex and I took the car out for a drive along the country lanes around Oxfordshire. It was misty, damp and very much a contrast to the previous afternoon. We started at the Chilterns and promptly let ourselves get lost somewhere between Henley and Reading. To be here on the cusp of autumn is such a treat. The harvest is done, the fields are empty of the summer crops, but the roadside still boasts cow parsley (Queen Anne's lace to all those back home), and the hedgerows are filled with blackberries. The hydrangeas are mottled and fading, tiny cyclamen carpet the undergrowth, unfazed by the deep shade and dim light cast by trees.
The trees are just on the turn. What a show is still to come.
Tomorrow I head for Bath.