Spring arrives shyly, with pretty flowers, unfurling leaves, something new to look at every day until you realise it is all around you and everything is lovely. September, on the other hand, vomits in with a sickening splat.
How does Autumn know the summer is over? On September 1 the heating clicked on in the morning for the first time in two months because the air in House of Ice had plummeted below its usual summer temperature of mildly chilly. I picked up the flip-flops and sandals lined up in the kitchen, stuffed them in the back of the cupboard and tipped the spiders out of the boots and wellies instead. Yesterday we had soup for tea; today I wore my mile-long, inch-thick black scarf to walk the dog. No gentle downward stroll into golden days of soft sunlight and cool, sharp air. Within a week we will be knee-deep in mouldy leaves and house-spiders the size of dinner plates. No more getting away with picnic lunches of sausage rolls and pork pie – I’ll be boiling pails of hearty pasta sauce and picking mince out of my fingernails.
Alright, already – I know this is the time of year we are supposed to give thanks for a bountiful harvest (and I did make some diamond raspberry vodka with fruit from the Brownies’ allotment, thank-you Snowy Owl) but that is just a cunning trick. We need all that elderflower wine and sacks of potatoes to get us through the dark,damp days ahead.
(House-spider by DutchMogul http://www.thingiverse.com/thing:95344)