Autumn’s blown in. After a couple of weeks of intermittent rain, the season’s confetti litters the floor. Acorns, berries. Yellow leaves, fallen like the last slivers of bright summer sun.
Out on walks, sucker-stepping down muddy tracks, umbel skeletons take on the appearance of upturned umbrellas, naked spokes waving wildly. Thistles, petrified and washed out to a mudstone grey, have become fuzzy sea monsters, defeated, lopsided, descending to the earth in slow motion.
The air is damp, fermenting. Crab apples bob afloat last night’s rain in the scooped out ruts made by tractor tyres and combines, or they lie on the ground, crushed under the feet of lunchtime striders and dog walkers. Country lanes smell sharp, borderline alcoholic.
The verges have been lopped back, perhaps for the last time before winter. It’ll be a while before we get another chance to inhale the fresh sweet scent of cut grass. This batch is definitely an autumn brew, mixed with the earthy tang of nettles.
The British are renowned for their weather-based small talk. But this year, the conversation has changed. Time is the new universal unifier. ‘What day even is it? I’ve lost track.’ ‘All the months seem to blend into one.’ These are the new conservation starters, the Zoom-openers, the neighbourly greetings called over the wall whilst trundling out the bins.
Pandemic time - or so we’ve learnt - moves and freezes in uncanny ways.
But autumn’s exhibition is a sign that time is working. Proof that we are on a forwards trajectory after all, and that life really is still going on outside of our heads and our screens. As the world around us flares senescent red, orange, yellow, it’s time to take a seasonal sigh of relief, as we’re shaken awake from unreality.
Autumn comes with a whole new set of motions. The season’s gardening is all about preparation, forward planning and nourishment. The glut of the year is over. The tomatoes ripped out. The squash plants withered like spectres. Broad beans are disappearing under the ground like buried treasure, ready to be rediscovered and festoon the earth in spring. And we’re busy clearing beds, exposing ground; then composting, mulching, nurturing the earth and steeling our resolve.
The news rages. A new lockdown looms. Seed catalogues pile up on the stairs. Garlic arrives in the post.
Bright colours remain, or appear. Late sown wildflowers still rave in the rubble. Dahlias lead an avant-garde fashion show round every corner. Cotoneaster and holly berries gleam red-eyed from previously unassuming corners, like little lights flashing on. Stop signs. A nudge to fluff our feathers, take stock, make ready. Then settle down, slow the mind and remember how to thrive in the face of frenzy.
I saved this for a moment of peace and quiet and was not disappointed when I finally got the chance! Loving the line, 'festoon the earth in spring' - I shall steal that and recycle it as my own one day !!
Beautiful writing, Fuchsia - thank you!