There’s a section of Keats; ‘To Autumn” that I’ve always loved. Lots of people go for the line, “Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness!” but for me it’s always been about the closing:
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn:
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft,
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
I’d so far witnessed a fair lot of this year’s seasonal change from behind windows, afraid in some ways (through a lower confidence (which previous posts will relay I’m tackling)) to venture too far in case of some sort of cancemergency. I’ve never been short on melodrama. Anyway, today that picture changed a little. I left the flat on my own in the sunshine, determined to show myself that I could be out and about solo, with all the cancery things going on in my body and that I would still be ok. Baby steps you may think, you could even laugh at the prospect I suppose, but we’re wholesale retraining my mind over this way and there is an upward trajectory.
I took some photos that I’d like to share because I’m amazed by the colours that I saw outside. I’m awed by how the light has shifted. The air was still warmish and refreshing, and the time has come for muted shades, unstructured more natural forms (no more green tidiness). Plus of course it’s the season for leaf-kicking in the parks. I kicked up lots of leaves.
I passed through the park and up toward the river. The view up westwards towards the City looked greyer, the sun is certainly lowering by the late afternoon time of day.
The view and light heading out east, out of London was wider and far nicer. The sky felt more expansive and it was a pleasure to see boats leaving the City.