Autumn is definitely here. All too often we seem to go from summer straight to winter but I like this lingering of summer during the day and the hint of winter in the mornings and at night.
I've been in a bit of a reflective mood lately. The dog caused it. I set out for a walk on Sunday and he didn't look interested in joining me. Now that's a first. Normally he starts barking me encouragement the minute he sees me putting on my walking shoes. But on Sunday he lay on the lawn and watched me put on my shoes and continued to lay there and watch as I headed off up the farm track. I'd gone about 30 yards before he hauled himself up and came to join me. It made me realise how old he is getting. I think he's a bit older in dog years than I am in human years and the thought that he was in his winter years dawned on me. Followed closely by the thought that perhaps I'm in my autumn years. Assuming I'll live to be 100, definitely I am.
Lewey doesn't run out to greet visitors as enthusiastically as he used to. Like me, he takes a less hurried approach to most things. But he still likes to join in the laughter of the grand-kids when they arrive with their nonsense, like trying to walk with their gumboots on back to front.
I must thank the friend who reminded me of John Keats’ Ode to Autumn, which I have always loved, especially that first line:
Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness!
No words can describe better how I feel.
The last of the summer dahlias