Brain fart
Thursday, October 12, 2006
The best lovely time.
Autumn is here, in droves of leaves and hums of clouds. Woollen warm on my skin reminds me of fires and mugs of tea with milk. Warmth around my neck reminds me of driving through countryside with an ex, on the day that autumn first broke that year. Soft jumper hugs and lip balmed kisses, hands that find themselves winding their way up backs letting a little fresh chill in. Feeding ducks in the park with mittens and kamikaze pigeons, hungry because no one braves the cold sometimes. They’re safe at home in warm jumpers. Walks to the shop on a weekend morning, wearing no make up in a hooded top and feeling the hangover thrum melt into cool air, finding satisfaction in buying papers, sugary drinks and crunchy snacks for friends and carrying them in bags back home. A happy ten minutes. Sunlight comes sideways in bright rays, illumination and shadows, perfect for photography. Even concrete takes on a certain beauty. Glorious honey red and crunchy brown colours are a joy to the eye, a yearly treat that never lasts long enough. The two weeks that the conkers fall is upsettingly short. There is genuine grief if I miss it. Bright shine of a woody finish, horse chestnut trees are the world’s greatest artists. Patterns like fingerprints and woodgrain, too perfect for me to ever have conker fights with when small. Like carving up potatoes for potato printing. I could never sacrifice that potato. Wise aging trees shed their once valuable load, with warm earthy smells of rotting leaves leading a sensual smelly dance around them. The cheapy shops are all now stocking wonderfully tacky Christmas decorations – a happy feast of clashing shiny plastic colours and reflective foil frippery. I want to decorate. Women are looking gorgeous in snuggly knits and belted overcoats with nipped in waists and cute little beanie hats. Must not think of peeling off the layers. Of lifting up jumpers to find a well insulated hot dry body underneath. Of holding hands and sneaky kisses in the park and leaf fights and of lending out my mittens to chilly fingers in a chivalrous fashion. Pubs are beginning to become cosy havens of traditional British pints of beer and log fires, after you struggle to take off your coat and scarf before you begin sweating. Coming in from the cold to join you, friend’s glasses steam up in comical fashion. I’ll just sit back with a pint now and pull my scarf out from behind my back… autumn is my favourite season.
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