It’s still early enough in the year, on the first of this month, to still be clinging on to the tail end of Summer. But how quickly the season changes throughout the month. It’s as if Summer is being packed away; the vibrant colours of the flowers slide into the warm russets and reds, crimsons and golds of Autumn. A few dry leaves lie scattered around the garden and the first immature windfall confers begin to appear under the trees. Wisps of smoke float through the air as the first fires are lit and their warm acrid scent permeates the atmosphere. It’s the month of the Autumnal Solstice when the year begins its hectic rush to its conclusion.
I always feel a sense of peace as September gets underway. The year draws to a close, the days draw in and the nights get longer. Comfort food is back on the menu and warm, woolly jumpers, hats and gloves appear from the back of the wardrobe. I feel at one with the pace, the rhythm and the predictability of the season.
There is also, though, a sense of sadness. The year dies and it’s a reminder of our own mortality. The year will be born again, but not us. We continue onwards towards our own inevitable conclusion.