Tag: seasons

December 13th – Chasewater was grey, foggy and very, very wet when I rode through near dusk. In a curious nether-world at the moment, there isn’t the optimism here of the new year, and with the wakeboard guys all packed up, there’s an out-of-season, end of the pier feel to the place, which I rather like.

Of course, not much was visible today, it was all just shades of grey fading into the lake.

December 7th – Another fine commute on a dry but windy morning, and again, it felt warmer than it should. Victoria Park in Darlaston is gorgeous at this time of year; it’s contours, slopes and features – including the remarkable footbridge – look wonderful in the low winter sunlight.

A fantastic place that’s well worth a visit.

November 26th – Yet another wet, miserable commute, and I feel I must surely soon develop webbed feet. The squally, blustery conditions have now stripped all but the most stubborn remaining leaves from the trees and scrub, and revealed some interesting views not visible in summer.

Also revealed at Bentley Bridge was this fie display on moss on a hawthorn bush. There seem to be several strains and various shades. I’m curious as to why this particular bush, in this spot, but it is rather fascinating.

November 20th – Spotted in Victoria Park, Darlaston, toadstools which seem to have been thin on the ground this year – the edible fairy ring champignon. Other fungi forms fairy rings too, but this one is most common, but like shaggy ink caps, they don’t seem to have had a good season.

Nice to see these, though.

October 31st – And then, the return. In shades of pink, blue, orange and grey, it was cinematic and even the distant, noisy sweep of traffic was beautiful. There was little wind and noise, and the smells of the season just hung in the air.

I’ve made no bones about having the darkness of winter. Everyone who reads this must surely know how I feel about it – yet when autumn is old and winter encroaches, the gloom is punctuated by a beauty you never feel in summer.

October 25th – The Parade, Brownhills. The main route over the common, and so I’m told, once the line of a colliery tramline.

These trees in neat rows are younger than me. I remember harsh winters, when these trees were saplings, and the council used to erect snow-break fences down here.

The hard winters seem rare now, and the trees are large and beautiful. It’s not their fault that they make me feel old…

October 24th – Passed through Aldridge as night fell. i’d been running an errand, and had to get shopping in. The sky was clear, and if I’d been in a place with a decent view, I think the sunset was pretty good. 

It felt cold, though, that onset of winter kind of cold. I could see my breath form clouds of missed, and the air felt hard, brittle and clear.

Appropriate, really, that British Summer Time ends tonight, and the darkness that haunts me returns.

Ah well, bring it on…

October 18th – I also liked how beautiful Walsall Wood was on this greyest of grey Sundays. The trees around the Brookland Road junction look superb – and the church of St. John, this evening with lights on for a service -looked great with the turning leaves in the background.

I felt much better today. I got stuff actually done. Once the black dog settles in it can be the very devil to shift, and at this time of year I’m always susceptible. But in truth, the light nights will return, a new year and new spring will dawn, and I’ll feel the warmth again.

In the meantime, I’ll learn to love the darkness. Sometimes it’s your friend. But it’s like doing a deal with the devil.

There’s a lot of cold, a lot of rough weather and a lot of darkness to come before the next spring.

October 16th – It had been a very long final day in a very long week. I was tired, my energy reserves were low and to to put it bluntly, I felt lower than the sea’s knees. I called in to Stonnall on the way home, and as I winched myself up Shire Oak Hill at Sandhills, I looked back at the Friday rush hour traffic rolling up the hill.

Dusk was falling, it was cold and beauty was hard to find.

Some journeys are harder than others, even when homeward bound. I felt every inch of this one.