From my desk – to which I am chained all day – I can see a big tree. It’s beautiful and very leafy. Because of it, in summer, I don’t get as much sun as I might if it wasn’t there – but I forgive it.
In spring, I sometimes catch a glimpse of a single bud or leaf suddenly falling down and I know a squirrel is having a feast up there. If I’m lucky I then see the little furry beast leaping among the branches. Delightful!
Today, I saw leaves falling – and no squirrel in sight. Autumn is around the corner.
I'm not Keats; I don’t like autumn (especially in the city). By the time winter arrives I’ve got used to the gloom and I can bear the cold too, but around now I get depressed by the waning of the light.
I’m slapping summer – my favourite season – for always being temperamental here, in London; for never living up to my expectations; for always being my busiest time.
And for not staying around long enough.