I have a bit of a love/hate relationship with autumn.
As Children we are, for some reason, required to choose favourites; favourite subject, favourite colour, favourite number, season, month, friend. So, when presented with four seemingly equitable seasons, I chose autumn. I liked the wind, I thought the colours were pretty, I liked the sound of the name and it wasn’t cliché. (Most girls liked spring because of the flowers and butterflies and bunnies.) So I chose autumn.
But that was as a kid. Since then, experience has taught me that I do have a favourite season: Summer. And autumn not only marks the end of summer, but heralds the dreaded winter with its ever increasing plunges into dark frigidity.
Despite this melancholy, one thing remains. Autumn is beautiful. I love that as a crisp, fresh chill descends onto the hills, the leaves change, almost overnight, to the most vibrant shades of red and orange. And then, almost more than ever, God is a painter.