The days are darker now, and close. There was dense fog until after lunch, with dusk well-established by half past four. I find myself alternately revelling in it, the drawing close and cosying in, and dreading the length of grey that stretches ahead.
So we admire the damp whispiness of it all, the bright reds that still hang on.
And we light the fire, refill the wood cupboard, snuggle into new flannel sheets.
The children arrive home hungrier, more worn these days. We are back to having snacks and tea waiting so they don't fall apart.
Really, though, while darker it has yet to become seriously cold. I still meander about in all of it, wandering over paths carpeted deep in leaves, streams barely peeping through, snails creeping along quite happily.
To everything there is a season, no matter how slowly my tropical sensibilities adjust...
Quite ! I find myself seizing up in November .
Candles , good music and large pots of soup help , as does the memory of Spring .
Posted by: SmitoniusAndSonata | 14 November 2012 at 07:30
your words about having snacks so they don't fall apart....I have not done such a good job in that department
Posted by: Ramona | 15 November 2012 at 07:22