To all practical intents and purposes the leaves have fallen from my favourite line of trees, the one I look at every day from my study window. All that’s left is the ivy cladding the trunks and that’ll be there, green and glossy, until after the trees have died on their feet.
And you know what? There was no truly discernible change of colour at all. Just a mouldy old tendency to go a bit yellow-ish and then they gave up the ghost and dropped.
Not good enough. If there was public access over there I’d pop in for a visit, kick the heaps of fallen leaves, and give them a good telling off. Autumn is supposed to be rich in colour. Mist and mellow fruitfulness is all very well but I want colour!
As compensation the way over to Swansea is rich with autumn colour, and heaps of fallen leaves cover the grassy areas in the most satisfying way. No sign of anyone kicking them, but then Swansea isn’t the kind of place where people go out kicking autumn leaves. I shall see if I can’t get a bit of a kick going later today when I go out for my mid-week provisioning (bread, milk, potatoes, wine).
Graham’s project is now at the most irritating phase, with lots of finicky work and precious little visible progress. That’s a two-way irritation, for him and for me. For him, it’s irritating when I say: ”Where? What’s different?” in response to a “What do you think about this?” For me, it’s irritating to be summoned in to view something I can’t see. There’s precious little ooh-aah in new coving detail for me, I’m afraid. I’m a broad brush man.
Dolly, of course, is neither irritated nor amused at any of this. Just so long as her daytime sleeping cushion is in place she’s not bothered by a lot at all.
Oh, and we’re enjoying another lovely sunny day. And I really mean enjoying.
