Transition

There has been a noticeable chill in the air over recent mornings, the overnight drop in temperature sufficient to cast a heavy dew. The tall vegetation that flanks the forest rides hangs seed heads bowed by the weight of the dew upon them and tiny droplets of water glisten in the first of the sun’s rays. The gossamer of a thousand spiders is draped over the vegetation like the silken threads of an untidy seamstress. Here and there a whole web, radiating out to points of firm anchorage, is stretched and contorted, pulled down by the weight of dew that coats its every thread.

Is autumn upon us? It seems too early, yet there are the tell-tale signs that summer is moving towards its end. The screaming parties of swifts have left, deserting the rows of terraced housing and those few that remain have fallen silent as they make their lonely arcs across the sky. Small numbers of house martins are beginning to drift southward and swallows will soon be gathering on the overhead wires. The woods hold a scent of fungi, their fruiting bodies erupting through the surface to fling their tiny spores onto the strengthening winds. Reports of sandpipers and whimbrel herald the arrival of the first autumn passage migrants; with breeding finished they are free to move south.

I welcome this slow change, the steady transition between seasons, as nature turns through another part of her annual cycle. The lush, verdant growth of early summer is being replaced by mature browns as plants begin to shift their resources, either drawing back within themselves to fuel the spurt of growth that will come next year, or packing seeds that will soon be dispersed by a procession of unwitting accomplices. This process of renewal fascinates me; I like the idea of drawing back within myself as the months of light and warmth pass, hoarding those experiences gathered throughout spring and summer in readiness for the winter ahead. By doing so I hope to remain in touch with the ebb and flow of the seasons, accepting the pattern of the natural world around me and not blinkered to the narrow view, offered by a world in which we can divorce ourselves from the seasons through artificial lights and gas-fired central heating.

This is why these first crisp mornings that hint at autumn are so invigorating. My senses are alert to the changes in temperature and light, to the scents and behaviour of plants and animals and I feel closer to the world around me. In some subtle way we are all influenced by the changing of the seasons; we should acknowledge this and celebrate these periods of transition, as one season passes into another.