Short Days, Early Nights

The weather is turning colder, and I shall need to protect or bring in some of my more tender garden plants, especially those in pots. Cold weather doesn't bother me too much, so long as I can wrap up warm, but I don't cope too well with the shortening days of this time of the year. I'm not sure whether I'm convinced by SAD as an identifiable disorder, but I have to confess I do feel sad more at this time of the year. As a poet, that might be to my advantage, as it encourages my writing; I'm not sure whether it enhances the quality of that writing, however. I've written some pretty good autumn verse, but I do seem to have written a load of rubbish as well. One thing I have observed - it's probably for the best to be cautious in the decisions I make at this time of the year, and to think through and review things before any of it is set in stone.

Having said that, this autumn has been brighter and less wearing than most, so far at any rate. Of course it has been milder than usual so far, and several of the trees to the back of us - oak, wild cherry, crab apple, even elm - still retain a few green leaves. Our acers at the front kept their leaves much later than usual too, but as always when they did fall they all fell at once! I've cleared most of them, and bagged them for compost; at the back, however, most of the leaves are still lying, and it will be a job for tomorrow, if time allows, to get them collected up.

Is there also a reason inside myself that this autumn has been brighter than previously? There may well be. It isn't that life is any less stressful than ever, but maybe I have a slightly better attitude to the dying of the light between equinox and solstice. The shortness of the days can be a frustration, but it is also a challenge, to get out there and make the most of it. The absence of summer colour is also a challenge, to look more closely and discern the more subtle beauties of the winter scene. And as the other day's amazingly loud mistle thrush (see Wednesday's post) reminds me, there's plenty of life out there even in the cold and short days, and it's often easier to view, too. So I shall make the most of this winter, due in some force this weekend; I do not intend to waste it or to hide away from it. Every day, short or long, is a gift to be treasured, enjoyed, and used.

It's not like this here yet, though there was snow on the far hills this morning . . . I wonder what the weekend will bring?