It's been a little over a month since I last graced this blog with a spray of thoughts formed together so as to attempt to make sense of my bizarre stream of consciousness. I bear no real excuse, except the time old cliché of being so busy I am yet to catch up with myself. That, and perhaps a pinch of the old case of 'writers block'. Well it's all about quality and not quantity, right?
Here's a thought...
Many things in life are defined through an evident transition from one state to another quite different. Yes/no, never/always, open/closed are but three examples. Seasons, however, possess a unique quality in that they appear to seamlessly fade into one another; for I do not go to bed on a glorious summer's day and wake to crisp leaves lining a street of stark, stripped trees. And yet, in contrasting myself entirely it really did feel that way today. The heating switch was firmly flicked to 'on' - and no doubt will remain so until February, if not March - and my wardrobe, full of summer clothing, managed to belittle me into feeling foolish for not reacting quicker to stocking appropriate autumnal attire. And that's what's so very fascinating about time; it appears to pass by so very quickly, and yet every now and then it surprises me with its ability to prove how silently it can work.
So with Autumn now enveloping like a thick duvet, the time has come to drown myself in seasonal clichés. The fire will soon be lit, the countdown to Christmas fast approaches and nights will be spent wrapped in my feather duvet escaping in books and watching the abundance of new series that grace our televisions this very time every year. Oh Autumn/Winter, I love you.