I love this time of year



Yes, I am more than aware of the fact that loving the autumn for its vibrant colours and its fresh, slightly chilled air is veering dangerously close to the realms of writer’s cliché but, frankly I couldn’t give the cuss of three tinkers. I do love the changing colours of the trees, the swirl of golden leaves as they dance on icy blasts of wind, the way the sun’s rays glint off the damp roads and, perhaps, most of all, I love that autumn, despite being the final throes of nature’s cycle, still manages to bring with it a sense of beginning.

For me, still clinging to notions of youth even when there are plenty of signs to the contrary, the autumn months (the ‘Bers, as a friend once rather wonderfully described them) marks the unofficial start of the year – just as the official one is shaping up for its festive conclusion.

There is, of course, one good reason why this time of year has the fresh air of newness about it. This is the time of year when schools are back in force and, as is the case with this particular month – when the Universities and academic year shakes its traditional self out of the summer slumber. So, I am basically saying that, in a great many ways, I still order the world according to school years.

This time of the year also happens to be the time of year in which I was born – and you can’t really get more beginning-er than that, can you?


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