October 15th – Further on, I hopped on the Spot Path back to Pier Street, and autumn is clearly well afoot now; leaves are turning and falling, and there’s that unmistakable nip to the air. It’s also getting dark now only a little past six pm – and in a week or so, the clocks will be going back and it’s the time of darkness once more.
Although autumn is lovely, I hate what it leads to.
October 14th – I’ve noticed in the last three days or so that autumn has finally arrived, painting her beautiful colours on the trees, hedgerows and landscape. I guess it’s the fact that the temperature has suddenly dropped, but now there can be no doubt we’re careering toward the shorter days, darker nights and colder weather – even though some late summer flowers are still remarkably holding on.
Holding on like I do.
Every year, I get to this point and wonder if I can face another season of darkness – the absence of light and growth and leaves I hate so much. But every year, as if jumping into a cold lake, once I stop struggling and fighting it, the dreaded experience becomes quite enjoyable.
There’s no stopping it now, in any case.
September 14th – This last few weeks I’ve been travelling home late a lot, and commuting in the dark. During these tired, weary evenings the rides have occasionally been very solitary, but one thing keeping me company has been the moon. Watching it wax and wane over successive fine nights has been a genuine joy, as has being observing the position every night.
This evening, with low cloud and mist on the ground, when the moon occasionally emerged, it had a lovely orange red hue.
It’s an odd friendship, me and the moon…
August 4th – Bitterweet to see the rosehips now ripening well along the lanes and towpaths of the Black Country. They are beautiful in their shiny, vivid orange jackets, their sight brightens many a ride in late summer and autumn. But they also indicate the passage of time and season, and their appearance always makes me a little sad for a summer passing.
There’s plenty of time, though for summer to improve, and while there are still blooms alongside the hips, all is not lost yet.
July 1st – Has half the year gone already? Really? Wow.
I flew from Walsall with the wind behind me just after the rain passed, and with a call to make in Stonnall, I let the wind blow me on a lazy loop around Shenstone. The wet lanes glistened in the sunlight, and the sky was deep blue. With the wet June, everything is verdant ad green, except the barley, which is turning now to the gold of high summer.
As the year and seasons move inexorably on, although it’s been wet, it hasn’t felt like a bad year for the weather. Let’s hope we get a drier, sunnier July and August.
March 31st – A fast run out late afternoon to test some adjustments, and for the second time in a week my gaze fell upon my favourite tree, the singular horse chestnut at Home Farm, Sandhills. Those who read this journal regularly will know well that I gauge the seasons by this tree. It’s such a classic, perfect conker tree with the iconic outline; I treasure it.
On a brighter day than awful Tuesday, with the spring sun picking out the greening fields and hedgerow, could that be a smattering of green on the tree? I do hope so.
February 5th – Yet again on a Friday, I found myself cruising down from Shire Oak into Brownhills. The wind had indeed been evil, but was at least now more or less at my back. I had to stop to answer the phone on Anchor Bridge, and while I was chatting I noticed the view, from the very bridge I was contemplating the night before. This slope here is more or less continuous from Shire Oak, and the road here is wide. Where I was stood in years gone by would have been a toll house, and when I was a kid there would have been grim maisonettes here and over the road, a large tower block. Now, it’s new build and an old folk’s home.
These days, this view seems utterly familiar, but twelve or so years ago, it would have been totally different. It struck me as I put the phone away that change is ongoing, and so granular that one hardly notices it happening.
December 15th – The magic numbers are important, so very important.
This is the data page of my bike GPS, the screen where I keep the figures important to me while riding – distance, battery level, time, average speed and all that geeky stuff. Top right number though, is sort of a mirror of the one bottom right; daily sunset time and sunrise.
Today, 3:52pm. This should, hopefully, be the earliest it gets. From now on, the sunset gets later every day (although the sunrise continues to get a wee bit later). This number is one of my small motivational yardsticks that get me through winter and this figure has several notable points; but none is more significant to me than this.
By January, it will be after 4pm again. It may be weeks away, but the darkness will be retreating, and spring will be tiptoeing in.
Today, as I wheeled the bike indoors from another wet commute, the raindrop-dappled glass glowed at me reassuringly in the darkness, and I knew in that instant that so very nearly, so very close now, so soon I will have beaten the advancing darkness for another season.
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…
September 23rd – I find autumn fills me with conflict. On the one hand, it’s the end of summer, the coming of darkness and the cold. On the other hand, it renders places like my beloved Darlaston utterly beautiful.
This is just a hint of the riches to come. It’s not all bad. Not by a long shot.
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