The turn of the seasonal clock toward winter gives me mixed emotions.
Shortening days mean the onset of SAD and a greater challenge in resisting my chronic depression, especially in the darkened cold of January and February. Conversely, there are many simple pleasures: the reddening leaves in October, November's breathlessly crunchy days, Christmas Carols in December and skeletal trees highlighted by lichens and mosses by winter's end.
The onset of Autumn means home grown veggies and jewel hued flowers. I couldn't resist buying a bouquet of butter yellow sunflowers from Waitrose this week, nor the deep pink Asters from M&S. Looking at them makes me feel like I've fallen face first into an artist's paint palette. Their effect is made all the more striking by my placing them in deeply coloured and clashing pottery vases.
Shortening days mean the onset of SAD and a greater challenge in resisting my chronic depression, especially in the darkened cold of January and February. Conversely, there are many simple pleasures: the reddening leaves in October, November's breathlessly crunchy days, Christmas Carols in December and skeletal trees highlighted by lichens and mosses by winter's end.
The onset of Autumn means home grown veggies and jewel hued flowers. I couldn't resist buying a bouquet of butter yellow sunflowers from Waitrose this week, nor the deep pink Asters from M&S. Looking at them makes me feel like I've fallen face first into an artist's paint palette. Their effect is made all the more striking by my placing them in deeply coloured and clashing pottery vases.
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| From Blogger Pictures |
Thinking of those home grown vegetables reminds me of the calorific joys of home-made winter stews made in that most scary of kitchen equipment, the pressure cooker. These are not properly served without a basket of crunchy bread nor of chilly, empty cats wrapped around my ankles as I release the lid.
Ah, but then my loathing of icy pavements thick with grubby snow raises it's ugly head and makes me want to hibernate 'til Spring. Am I part bear? At times I think so; in temperament if not appearance. Still, at least this last has a rationale in that I'm terrified of landing butt first and doing my dodgy back further damage.
I must finish on a pleasure. My fur friend Nutmeg's shared disgust of the cold means I have toasty toes at night as she curls up under my duvet with me. I could do without her habit of bringing her supper with her though... cat spitty biscuits are as comfy as toast crumbs in the bed!
I must finish on a pleasure. My fur friend Nutmeg's shared disgust of the cold means I have toasty toes at night as she curls up under my duvet with me. I could do without her habit of bringing her supper with her though... cat spitty biscuits are as comfy as toast crumbs in the bed!
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