I read David Mitchell (actor, not author)’s autobiography over the summer. Called ‘Back Story’ it deals with his early years. In one section he explains with the somewhat eeyorish-misanthropic-steam-of-consciousness-for-which-he-is-well-known commentary that he has a problem with autumn and how his education turned out to be sadly lacking because no one really explained autumn to him.
For the life of me I cannot remember what he meant. I laughed but I was puzzled to say the least. Autumn has always meant a start, so far as I’m concerned. Odd maybe, in that is the traditional role of Spring. But I suspect it starts with it being the going back to school/university season and morphs these days into that time of year when I have to set to, to prepare the garden for next year.
Things have to be cut back, dug over. If somewhere is to be changed this is when the hard work ensues. Major lawn work takes place now.
Yes Spring is when we begin to see the results of that work but the start, the beginning if that renewal is just before and while everything seemingly shuts down.
Still, as the pictures show, there’s still a lot of colour.