to October. Ok, so April and May are the most exciting times of the year. A sense of new, of rebirth, of freshness and hope. Poor old October, is seen a sense of loss, of the end, the doom and gloom to come. It’s #Rocktober Or #Stoptober. This is a play on words not a rejoicing of the time of year. Well, I’m going to ramble on about the wonders of October. It doesn’t get any press.
This is the time of year, when you get the best of both worlds, that imminent sense of cosy fires, wooly hats, crumpets, warm pubs with red faces and fine ale. And at the same time, astonishing mornings, the cool air hitting the warm ground and the mist oozing out and sitting like lazy layers of wool in the valley. The sun is lower, the colours emanate oranges and browns, all cues for warmth and oneness. Yesterday, I woke up and the wind was blowing gently from the North East, you could just make out the Tarka Line train puffing along down in the valley. I walked up to the Nap and the world sat quietly below me, the mist hanging down by the Taw, It was like being in a plane and looking down on the clouds. It was cold, but bright, it felt like spring almost…
Later that day, I was over in Somerset, helping out putting some shingles on the roof of a sawmill. It was baking, Literally airless heat, top off, face burning. So bad, I had to spend £8 on suntan lotion. Yes in October. Then today, it’s wet, cool, the grass is soaked, I look to the woodburner and think of a cosy evening. All the seasons in 24 hours. You don’t get that in Rio. The sunsets the same every day, well almost, the temperature the same every day, well almost. We moan about our weather but I love it. Constant change, constant flux, keeps us on our toes, no day the same, its good for the soul.
