Pumpkin Soup

a weblog with an allotment attached

19 September 2007

The colours of autumn

Ask me which is my favourite season and I would probably tell you that it depends and that at this time of year I would have to say autumn. Of course, if you asked me again in April, I would say spring. It’s not that I’m fickle, it’s just that both have such a lot to recommend them.

Right now I love the riot of colours, the oranges and reds and golds and browns, their richness and warmth. I love how the blackberries are hanging off the brambles and am reminded of the stained and scratched fingers we got as kids picking pots and pots full of them along the country roads where we lived. I still keep an eye out for rose hips and remember that at school we used to use them as a substitute for itching powder, dropping one or two down the back of a shirt of a ‘friend’.

Physalis lantern

I love to see the leaves start to turn so that the trees are painted, pointillism-style, with spots of green and tan and russet and beige and yellow. I like the wind and the way that dry leaves rustle, a comforting sound, even in the chill. I can’t wait to kick my way through piles of fallen leaves like the overgrown child that I am. Though these days this activity is followed by me collecting them up to rot down into leaf mould.

True, the ever-shortening days can sap my strength and the low morning sunlight makes the drive to work a real headache. But autumn is such a voluptuous season, with an ample bosom and generous hips – no wonder this is when we get to harvest apples and pumpkins.

Still, ask me again in April…

Filed under: Seasons - autumn — Clare @ 4:02 pm

1 response

  1. The Autumnal Assistant

    “Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
    Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
    Conspiring with him how to load and bless
    With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
    To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
    And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
    To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
    With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
    And still more, later flowers for the bees,
    Until they think warm days will never cease,
    For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.”

    …as your poet Keats put it. Lovely.

    (19.09.07 @ 9:02 pm)

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