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It is sunnier than predicted, after days of rain
I'm visiting the US in November, almost on a whim (or, on an urge as whim-like as a transatlantic trip can ever be, which except perhaps for the very rich is not very). I'm getting more and more excited the more I think about it. Not just to see my family, but also because I realised that I haven't been home in autumn in years.
It was always my favourite season, back home. Here, where there are few trees and the summer is bright but intermittent and cool, autumn feels like little more than a closing down of the most recent year's attempt at fecund verdancy -- and even that is confused by the fact that the grass, which accounts for a large part of the greenness, stays bright green all year 'round. Autumn is a season for bracing, for withdrawing, for sloping down the long dark hill of winter.
But in a temperate forest, autumn is glorious. Early autumn, in particular -- when the trees are just starting to turn and the summer berries are still left hanging, overripe or shrivelled on the bushes after a long hot summer -- feels restful and welcome, like lying down after a heavy meal. And the leaves are beautiful, and the woods smell wonderful.
Oddly enough, just thinking about how nice a forest autumn is has me focusing on the beauty of the few trees around me this year, and actually enjoying the season rather than dreading it as in past years. I'm going to miss the early autumn at home, but I can at least enjoy it here. There's a cycle path near my house that's set down in a shallow ravine, with trees on either side, where you can almost pretend you're in a forest. I find it immeasurably restorative; I miss forests so much.
It was always my favourite season, back home. Here, where there are few trees and the summer is bright but intermittent and cool, autumn feels like little more than a closing down of the most recent year's attempt at fecund verdancy -- and even that is confused by the fact that the grass, which accounts for a large part of the greenness, stays bright green all year 'round. Autumn is a season for bracing, for withdrawing, for sloping down the long dark hill of winter.
But in a temperate forest, autumn is glorious. Early autumn, in particular -- when the trees are just starting to turn and the summer berries are still left hanging, overripe or shrivelled on the bushes after a long hot summer -- feels restful and welcome, like lying down after a heavy meal. And the leaves are beautiful, and the woods smell wonderful.
Oddly enough, just thinking about how nice a forest autumn is has me focusing on the beauty of the few trees around me this year, and actually enjoying the season rather than dreading it as in past years. I'm going to miss the early autumn at home, but I can at least enjoy it here. There's a cycle path near my house that's set down in a shallow ravine, with trees on either side, where you can almost pretend you're in a forest. I find it immeasurably restorative; I miss forests so much.
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