Sunday, October 02, 2016

It is the "Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, close bosom friend of the maturing sun".

I pinched this picture of one of the ponds at Hampstead from somewhere on the net. If I had the money we would have a house near the heath, preferably between Highgate and the heath. One of my favourite places and one of the few things I miss from London. I love this time of year, the change of scents in the air with burning leaves and the peppery scent of dead leaves upon the earth. The changeable days with the need for a brisk walk wrapped up against a blustery wind. The soft lighting as the evenings darken and just upon the edge of one's peripheral vision, the ghosts of memories past and the monsters, myths and mysteries hidden in the deepening shadows. The awareness that for all of our sophistication and knowledge, there is doubt and anxieties creeping in with the darkness. A wonderful time of the year and with harvests gathered in and death everywhere on show, it is no wonder that people in past times told stories of other worlds, of ancestors and wraiths returned to pierce the veil of those selfsame mists to clutch bony cold fingers at our hearts. Build up the fire, bring light and warmth to all around it and shutter up the door and windows. It is blowing a hoolie out there, rain is pattering against the windows and something shuffles and moans outside in the deepening shadows...


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