Abjuring Autumn

or

But I don't want to go to school!

Slowly, reluctantly I emerge from the comforting arms of sleep and after a few minutes of denial, acknowledge that yes, I'm awake.  I open my eyes and gaze numbly out the bedroom window at the Great Tit fluttering amongst the branches.

Great tit - photo taken last March

Summer, such as it was, has long gone.  The hope that we might get at least a couple of nice days has been firmly quashed.  Well, it is October after all and Winter begins in only three weeks.  Was it a mere fortnight ago that I finally put away my summer clothes and dug out the jumpers, scarves and gloves?  It was certainly in the last couple of weeks that I put on my bomber jacket again for the first time since last January.  Great jacket, that.  Bought for €40 many years ago in Mary Street, it's warm and cosy and can be thrown into the washing machine when it accumulates a critical mass of mud, beer, cigarette ash and other nasties that dwell on pub floors.

It is a dull day, the light is grey and absorbing all attempts to penetrate it.  I turn on the bedroom light, but it makes little difference.  The atmosphere is yet sombre and dream-like.  There are raindrops on the washing line and the bonnet of the car, although the windscreen has dried.  The leaves, still green with a hint of yellow peeking through here and there, sway off-balance in the gentle breeze.

Mushroom

It puts me in mind of Caislean Droim an Oir (Castle of Dromore) and the line

       Tá gach sean-duilleog dul ar crith

A much more apt and poetical description that the English version of the song which renders the line as "Though Autumn leaves may droop and die".  (The literal translation is more akin to "Every old leaf is shaking".)  It's the kind of morning where you yearn to roll over, pull the duvet over your head and drift back to the sanctuary of your dreams, but no, it's Wednesday and social convention dictates otherwise.

In a stupor, I force myself up and into the bathroom to "perform my morning ablutions", turning on all the lights on the way in a vain attempt to brighten my mood.  Clothes on, breakfast eaten, ham sandwich made for lunch and I join the thousands of commuters on their way to work.

Red Clover

Autumn, nearly Winter.  It's time to pick the blackberries and apples.  Only three weeks left to do so before the púca spits on them.  Three weeks to make apple tarts, crumbles and cakes.  There won't be enough blackberries for jam.  The rats tend to get them before I do.  Mushrooms and red clover sprout sporadically in the lawn.  It's also time to dig the small vegetable patch by the back door in perparation for next year's crop.  That'll only happen if I can emotionally blackmail someone into doing it for me.  Anyone need a computer fixed?  Time too, to get the boiler serviced and check the level of oil in the tank.  All these small, seasonal tansks that are trivial in themselves, but feel like a weight on my shoulders.

 
This is a gloomy portrayal of Autumn reflecting the mood of an early, dull Wednesday morning, but, in truth, it's not a bad time of year if I can manage to drag myself out of the leaba to appreciate it.  I've had many a contented day kicking up yellow and rust leaves in Marley Park or in the woods of the Dublin Mountains.  Or playing conkers with fellow revellers on the way home from a night out, perhaps in Whelans checking out a band, in town.  And that's what I have to bear in mind on these soul-crushing days.  Once you're up and out there, life really ain't so bad!