Winter

It used to be a time I dreaded, long nights stretching, engulfing days but as I get older there seems to be greater romance in those cold winter days. Jumpers, snuggling, battling through rain. The dark emphasising the light, neon glowing. Xmas. Glowing lights. Mulled wine. Waiting for change. Looking forward rather than at the present. I am determined to luxuriate in the wrapping up of winter, to stroke the deep woollen knit, put my feet up towards the roaring fire, gentle puff on a pipe, reading The Hound of the Baskervilles. I love the low searing light of winter. In summer it is expansive and flat, but those cold wet dark months are crossed with laser like strips of sun, striking from far to near, providing depth and excitement. Waking up in the dark and gradually arising with the light unlike summer months where it is instant, turning a light on, no sun to full sun. You can leave your garden to just exist rather than spending hours fighting off excessive growth, hacking at weeds, willing the grass to stay short. Winter is romantic. You two or three of more against the world. Summer is full on, everyone out there, festival, party, active, blinded by the flat light, wide angle, no place to hide as the sun engulfs. Splashing on suncream to protect against a deteriorating ozone layer, a thin film with holes puncturing through. No aircon. Instead, dark dramatic atmospheric winter world, wrapped in blankets, fire on, lights twinkling, a season of thought and anticipation. Wrapping up the year. The worst thing about winter is the thought of its arrival. Increasingly my summer months are ruined as summer solstice disappears in the rear-view mirror veering towards it’s winter equivalent, the days getting inexorably shorter. The long lead up to dark wet cold depressing months when I should just be enjoying summer days and nights drifting along. Never ending days to be replaced by never starting moments. Some of our friends have the right idea, lucky sods. Enough money to luxuriate in English summers and then plan their winter escapes to South America, Asia, Australia, Africa, maintaining the light of life, following the sun, keeping winter at bay. Up in space there is no issue with the seasons. If you’re looking down on earth they fly past, daily, providing a dazzling display of summer, autumn, spring. But surely embrace the winter. There is a stark beauty, a low light which plays enormous shadows, providing greater depth and interest onto vistas. Wrap up warm and get outside, look at the views, seep in the world. Neon Lights twinkling in the gloom, providing a vibrancy and electricity. Colour and interest. Beautiful cold thin morning sunrises where metallic light purples and thin warm oranges litter a pastel sky. Look to the now but also ahead. Winter can be cold and lonely but there is also the promise of something better ahead, the winter solstice a marker, the most hopeful day of the year when gradually more light and interest arrives daily, the football season coming through its phoney war into games which actually means something, there is jeopardy.  The long slog of league games developing into a tussle for the top, to move up or down a level, settle on a new normal. Cup games in muddy fields, ball stuck in treacherous puddles as wind rattles around the stands blowing you sideways. Fearful of the journey from changing room to pitch, vaseline caked over freezing limbs. The winter is also a time to luxuriate, to cuddle up with some of the great authors of our time, let ideas and knowledge seep into your brain. Relearn. Recharge. Rethink. Settle into new and old concepts, philosophy, AI, culture, stories of war and peace, light and shade, action and adventure, beautiful prose or edge of the seat excitement. Winter seems to be the longest season, to go on inexorably, dark following dark, where illness can lead to death. But it is also the most romantic, when friends and families come together, to talk and argue, to annoy and rejoice. The last time in that house. Setting markers, remembering departed family and friends through stories, games and laughter. The rest of the year you can be apart but the winter forces families together, to eat too much, watch too much, slobber on the sofa until the hope and joy of new year arrives. A fresh start. A new beginning. The chance to reset and go again.

Winter morning sunrise with the sun creating a star shape as it emerges over the horizon and across the sea in East Devon, UK.

Autumn

Sitting in a coffee shop underneath the arches waiting for my train to arrive. All manner of people, Bristol people, venturing in and out, collecting baked goods created in front of their eyes, too bleary to understand the lack of mystery. Various fashion, individualism, collective lives, coffee. Expectant and a little fraught, a workday in early September provides a unique buzz. The calm beauty of summer gradually seeping away towards getting your head down for the graft of winter. Jumpers and jackets back out of storage, straight away, no real meander but straight back into the thick of it. No time to sit and contemplate what has been, just marching on to the next stage, free flowing downhill into the abyss of winter.

The lcy coldness of early autumn mornings, where the memory of summer is still present but the heat is starting to dissipate. Skies radiate with an orange, purple blue cobalt metallic quality, much lighter than in previous months, a pastel thinness as the light is lower and less intense. The sun more gradually rising, a lower trajectory that adds greater interest like the lamps you have in your rooms rather than the over bright overhead light. Birds seem to talk and fly more delicately, less insistent, waning in energy as they start the process of either heading south or hunkering down. The squawking youthfulness of spring and summer replaced by a thoughtful resigning to the gradual onset of darker and colder times. Like the birds I sometimes get Seasonal Adjustment Disorder, sadden by the onset of darker, colder and often wetter times. The lack of light proving difficult to cope with. I love wrapping up and kicking through fallen leaves on country paths or city avenues, my camera coming to life as vistas take on greater interest, the flatness of summer replaced by interest and hue. I stare at the sky a lot more in autumn, slightly wistful but also thankful for the beauty. September, which veers uneasily between seasons, getting colder but often dry and mini heatwaves providing the last remembrance of fanciful summer times. The last chance to dive into the sea, it’s warmest time of the year, a fitting memory of immersing in nature. The classic colourful months of autumn. Woodland walks. The last chance of light. Bitter sweet. The end of something and the start of the new although it feels more like gradually disappearing, going into a cave, going underground, darkness enveloping. Memories of light transferred into darker days. Wet, cold, neon lights. Avenues of golden trees glinting in the lowering sunlight, rays softly etching patterns on the forest floor. Autumn seems to start earlier every year, snatching summer moments before they have even been fulfilled. Leaves browning and falling in July. I am sure that never happened in my youth where long hot summers seemed to stretch for eternity. Now though early autumn provides a somnambulant air, sleepwalking into colder, wetter and shorter days, life snatched from your very grasp. Before the beautiful colours emerge, it is a prewinter state, a warning sign of life passing. Time turning. Gradual ageing. The garden goes into hibernation, plants stop growing and start to wilt. Stasis is on the horizon.