W is for well, well, well

 

Here’s to a  Wonderful, Windy, Woolly Autumn

Well, well, well.  Here we are in autumn, when the weather turns wild, the wind whistles and the woods become a wonderful whirl of waving and wonderful colour. The world seems to have swapped its summer wardrobe for a warm, woolly, weatherproof one.

The weather, naturally, has its own wicked sense of humour. One minute the sky is wide and white; the next, a wall of rain is wandering across the fields.

Then there is wool. Wonderful wool. Woolly jumpers, woolly socks, woolly scarves and woolly blankets suddenly become essential equipment.

Autumn also brings warming things: warm porridge, warming soup, walnut cake, winter vegetables and wonderful cups of whatever takes your fancy. I settle down while the wind worries the windows.

The evenings are wonderfully welcoming. Outside, the wind wanders around the house, the rain washes the windows. Inside, I have a book, a blanket and absolutely no wish whatsoever to go anywhere.

There is no need to rush. I can wander, watch, wonder and wait. I can watch the leaves whirl across the garden, wonder where summer went and wait for the kettle to boil.

Autumn is a time to withdraw indoors, wrap yourself in wool and watch the world go by.

Well, why wouldn't you?

 

V is for vespers

I have to admit that I’m more of a Compline sort of gal than a Vespers one.  Compline is at bedtime: Vespers is the evening prayer and is a little earlier.  In the C of E we now have it as Evensong and maybe Compline later on.  I’m cheating slightly as I’m going to roll them all together with prayers in the evening to be my “V” post.  And it seems right to think about this in autumn.

There is something rather satisfying about the day coming to an end.  It may not have been very productive – that doesn’t matter.  It’s a day which I’ve spent with God whether or not I have thought about him and it’s a day I want to give back in prayer.  We spend much of our lives trying to squeeze more into the day. Vespers does the opposite. It says: stop now. The day is ending. You don't have to do anything more.

The formal service involves a psalm, some Scripture, prayers and, traditionally, the beautiful Magnificat — Mary's song of praise from the Gospel of Luke.  I use the Book of Common Prayer version with its wonderfully old fashioned language.  Sometimes the prayer can be as simple as sitting quietly for a few minutes at home and consciously handing the day over to God.  The world will manage, even if I stop pedalling.

Vespers invites us to look back over the day — not to judge it, but simply to notice it.  The things that went well.  The things that didn't.  The small kindness we received.  And perhaps the things we wish we had done differently.  Then we let them go.

I think there is something especially comforting about an evening prayer that has been prayed by Christians for centuries. Somewhere, in some church, monastery or quiet room, people have been watching the daylight fade and saying their prayers long before we invented electric lights, central heating and online shopping.

We still need to stop.  We still need to give thanks.  We still need forgiveness.

Some ancient traditions are worth keeping.

 

U is for umbellifers

 

Cow parsley

There are some weeds which I rather like.  I do have my standards but there is something rather lovely about umbellifers standing near autumn hedges. 

Umbellifers?  They are plants with umbrella-shaped heads made up of dozens of tiny flowers.

Queen Anne's lace

Cow parsley is probably the one most of us recognise, although by autumn it has gone from its frothy white springtime self to something altogether more skeletal. The flower heads dry beautifully, catching the low autumn light and looking almost like tiny pieces of lace.  Wild carrot does much the same. Its flower heads flatten and curl inwards as they age, forming those curious little shapes sometimes called a ‘bird’s nest’.   And wild carrot has the lovely alternative name of Queen Anne’s lace. 

T is for twilight

 

Tomorrow, 23rd September, is the autumnal equinox , that curious point in the year when day and night are roughly equal in length. After that, here in the Northern Hemisphere the nights begin to win their annual contest with the daylight.

In other words, evenings are drawing in.

There is something comforting about twilight. The birds become quieter and the whole world seems to take a deep breath.

It’s the time to light a gentle lamp and curl up with a drink or a book and decide that anything not done today can jolly well wait until tomorrow.

Twilight also makes the ordinary look slightly magical.  A few lights glowing in windows suddenly seem wonderfully welcoming.

The autumn equinox feels like a little marker in the year.  Summer is officially stepping aside. The leaves are changing, the mornings are cooler and the evenings are closing in.

Each day the nights will be a little longer and on Sunday, 25^th October British Summer Time will end at 2am and we all get an extra hour’s sleep. 

S is for Slippers

Slippers are one of the great privileges of retirement. My slippers are not glamorous. In fact, they are from a range of men’s slippers!  I don’t like furry slippers or slippers with fussy bits attached so footwear designed for chaps seemed to fit my purpose better. 

They take me from the kitchen to the sitting room, from the sitting room to the bedroom  and occasionally (on dry days only) outside to the bin.

Autumn makes slippers even more appealing. The mornings are cooler, the evenings arrive earlier and the floor suddenly feels much colder than it did in August.

As I said, slippers are one of the privileges of retirement.  They go with woolly jumpers, maybe a throw or two and a warm drink.  And a very smug/snug feeling.  How about you?

 

R is for rosehips

 In the summer the native dog rose looks lovely in our hedgerows but the flowers died off some time ago and now we have rosehips.  They are just little splashes of colour almost hidden in hedges where the hawthorns have rather more profuse fruits.  Wild rosehip looks as though it has been put there deliberately by someone with a paintbrush.

Wild rosehips were particularly important during the Second World War, when rosehip syrup was made as a source of vitamin C when supplies of some fruits were scarce.  I can remember rosehip syrup being served with milk puddings at school in the fifties.  

I’ve mentioned foraging earlier in this series but I’ve never collected rosehips for food.  I am happy to leave them for birds and other wildlife.  Besides, they look so pretty in the hedgerows.  They don't need to be picked, cooked or preserved to be worthwhile.  They can simply be admired.

For everything there is a season and a time for every purpose under heaven:

 a time to be born and a time to die;

a time to plant and a time to pluck up what is planted;

3 

a time to kill and a time to heal;

a time to break down and a time to build up;

4 

a time to weep and a time to laugh;

a time to mourn and a time to dance;

5 

a time to throw away stones and a time to gather stones together;

a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing;

6 

a time to seek and a time to lose;

a time to keep and a time to throw away;

7 

a time to tear and a time to sew;

a time to keep silent and a time to speak;

8 

a time to love and a time to hate;

a time for war and a time for peace.

Q is for quietness

One of the great rebellions of my retirement is claiming the right to do nothing.  I had a busy working life, was carer for both my mother and my sister, ran a house and garden which were much too big for me and now I enjoy the pleasure of quietness.

I’d hate you to feel that idleness is easy.  I have only to look around and I can see so many things which I should be doing but I struggle and say “nah”. 

The bins ought to be emptied.  The laundry is breeding.  I have lots of cupboards which need to be sorted.  But I'm ignoring all of it.

Even the birds are quieter.  The springtime avian urge for romance is a distant memory and now there is abundant food and they feel little urge to squabble. 

But it isn’t really quiet.  The freezer motor hums.  The occasional car passes.  Even my tummy gives the odd rumble.  Two of those are easy to ignore. 

But mostly there is quietness.

The leaves can fall without my assistance.

The rain can rain.

The washing can wait.

I am content.