Seasons

Never mind your festive season, your romantic notions of White Christmases, your open fires and your winter cheer.

In reality, it’s usually just rain. Or slush. And The Grey.

February, anyone? Is there a more miserable month of the year that must be endured? I think not.

No, you can keep that.

Give me glorious Autumn any day, with its crisp, bright golden mornings. Nature’s annual parade of pride when the trees puff out their chests and wear their technicolour coats with aplomb. Harvest smells abound. And the countryside looks so alive and beautiful, it could make your heart burst.

The worst thing about Autumn? It doesn’t last long enough. It’s a few fleeting weeks – a parade, a showtime. Then it’s gone – it’s just a russet-hued, blush-soaked memory of better times,  a distant beacon in your mind when the Grey appears.

I wish it could be Autumn every day.

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