The clocks went back on Sunday, giving us that extra hour of winter time to look forward to. Consequently, winter time has exacted its payment by chucking it down.
Well it’s not really winter. It’s the season I’ve been calling ‘Hood’s Autumn’, after the poem by Thomas Hood - November. ‘Keats’s Fall’ (season of mists and mellow fruitfulness) was pre the clock change, and now it’s all soggy leaves, dank evenings and enough rain to give Noah the flashbacks.
It really has rained. Yesterday it was sweeping in curtains across the shimmering concrete, thundering on the conservatory roof, and dribbling miserably from the gutters and drains. I didn’t go out in it. I stayed in and watched the grey clouds roll over.
Today, it’s scattered drizzle and blustery winds. Wheelie bins and watering cans lie flat across windswept gardens, and the last few colourful trees wave their red leaves in protest. What’s more, it gets dark early now so you can only enjoy the view until around 5pm, at which point the world is black slippery roads and bright headlamps.
Gosh I’m sounding miserable about it. I’m not really. I’m taking my Vitamin D, I promise! And there is something Christmassy in the air now that Halloween’s over. Light in the darkness, and all that - always cheers us up.
Maybe we borrow the hour from the weather, and then in Spring we give it back in return for warm skies and sunny evenings. Is that how it works? If it is, I can’t help feeling we got a bit of a rough deal. I think I’d rather not be given the extra hour over winter, endure dark mornings when I have to, and let the daylight soothe me long into Advent and New Year on those bright, hopeful evenings. To be honest, I just think I’d like it not to be raining.
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