A couple of weeks ago I was out in my car - with the
roof down, naturally - and all I could smell as I drove past a wooded area was fallen leaves.
That and bonfires are the smells of autumn past for me. And the title of this
blog, taken from the poem
by Laurence Binyon, was one that appealed to me because Binyon was born in
a house in Lancaster - my old stamping ground. The house still bears a blue plaque bearing
his name as its claim to celebrity.
Now is the time for the burning of the leaves.
They go to the fire; the nostril pricks with smoke
Wandering slowly into a weeping mist.
Brittle and blotched, ragged and rotten sheaves!
A flame seizes the smouldering ruin and bites
On stubborn stalks that crackle as they resist.
But despite this affection for the smell of
the aforementioned fallen leaves, Autumn is not my favourite time of year for
several reasons. The days start to shrink, so that by four thirty in the
afternoon the light is definitely starting to recede. After this weekend, here
in the UK, the clocks go back an hour as British Summer Time ends. Left to my
own devices I’d shift the clocks half an hour and leave them be for the whole
year. None of this Springing forwards or Falling back to remember.
Autumn is usually when you realise that all
the things you were hoping to achieve during the summer are now not going to
get done. When the first colds and sniffles hit you, when it rains more often
than it doesn’t. When you never seem to go out wearing enough clothing, or find
you’re wearing too much.
I have always liked definite seasons.
Summers when you can actually bare some skin without it being covered in
goosebumps. Winters when it snows rather than just raining harder and colder. I
love the quality of light you get in winter, that clarity without the haze, the
burr of frost. But at the moment the seasons are simply being indecisive.
I think that’s why I love travelling so
much. You go to the Mediterranean or the Middle East in summer and you know
what to expect. The same of Austria or Bulgaria in the winter. Perhaps I should
be structuring my year around the weather systems and travelling accordingly.
What about you? What time of year is your
favourite, and why?
This week’s Word of the Week is nerterology, meaning the lore that
pertains to the dead, from nertero, from
the Greek nerteros, lower, and in
plural nerteroi, those of the Classic
underworld, the dead.
Zoe, I too abhor the coming of the dark. Autumn in New York has been rhapsodized in song, and this Sunday morning is bright, crisp, and splendid. But for me, it is the wrong side of winter. Snow can be lovely here and brings a hush to our streets. For about two hours or so. Then it turns into nasty gray slush which overnight will freeze into ice, ugly and treacherous underfoot. UGH! As for the impulse to be on the move--that's what what blog is about tomorrow. When it comes to nerterology--I will leave it to Jeff and EvKa to make some nerty or naughty puns. I groan in advance.
ReplyDeleteHi Annamaria. Snow is wonderful just after it's fallen, and I just LOVE to build snow sculptures if the consistency is right. A couple of years ago I arrived at the house of some friends too early, having left plenty of time because of the snow forecast. When I got there, the front lawn was coated in snow, and I had a shovel in the boot of my car, so I did what anyone would do in the circumstances. I sculpted a life-size Great White Shark. I wonder if I still have the pictures ...
DeleteAlthough we are on our third weather warning of the week (rain and gale force winds), I love the autumn. I love the way it creeps in, none of that flash audacity of summer. And the colours- purple and reds, bronze and browns. Warm and cosy, dogs in front of log fire after a long walk sniffing through leaves. Long evenings of writing and good red wine. Fab.
ReplyDeleteHi Caro. I know -- I've been listening to the shipping forecasts and there are gale warnings everywhere.
DeleteI have to confess a sneaky liking for those reds and golds, but it's the dull lifeless washed-out greens that are the depressing part of autumn. And leaves can hide a multitude of sins. I'll leave the details to your imagination.
But darker evenings are a great time to write, I agree!
Let me see if I get these travel hints correctly: the Middle East in Summer and Bulgaria in the winter? Are you trying to give us examples of nerterology in action from an old Russian military travel brochure?
ReplyDeleteHey, Jeff, what's wrong with some summer heat and winter snow? I like extremes of temperature and climate. Can't wait to go to Iceland for that very reason. And one of the wonderful things about the Middle East even in summer temps is that it's too dry in the desert for mozzies!
DeleteIf I was taking examples from an old Russian military travel brochure, I'd be trying to tempt you into a nice hiking holiday in the peaceful mountains of the Khyber Pass and the Hindu Kush... :)
I love all the seasons (change is good! :-), but I must admit a particular fondness for spring. After the long cold, grey winter (here in western Oregon), there's a period of 3-4 weeks April-May when the gray-brown sameness gives way to a sudden explosion of not less than a lusczillion shades of green, and flowers start to pop open, and... oh, tis a wonderful time of year.
ReplyDeleteAs for 'nerterology', you almost had me for a moment, but then I realized it was NOT 'nerderology' and I lost interest. Although, these days, given the great interest of nerds in all things zombie, perhaps the two ARE related...
Hi Everett -- or do you prefer EvKa?
DeleteI'm never sure about Spring. It usually seems a little half-hearted. Never quite letting go of winter, never quite getting hold of summer. By the time I realise it's actually here and isn't just another false start, it's too late and summer is already upon us.
LOL on the 'nerderology'. If that isn't a word it really ought to be. All things pertaining to the lore of nerds. I like it!
I answer to pretty much anything. I was christened with 'EvKa' after one day I jokingly referred to Annamaria as 'AmA'. 'EvKa' sounds to me sort of like a crow with a cold, but that's okay. After all, a group of crows are known as a 'murder'...
DeleteGood answer! Of course, if anyone every tries to get me to answer to ZoSha, they may have their work cut out for them ...
DeleteI gladly accepted Ama, since in Italian it means, "He or she loves." When you hear those Italian tenors in mid opera singing out "M'ama.," they are not calling out for their Mammas. They are rejoicing that the lady they want has revealed her love.
DeleteWell, I KNEW that, of course, AmA! :-) [snort]
Delete