I walked back into the room after getting my breakfast. The baby is on the floor, trousers removed and waving a dirty nappy about. The toddler is tantruming about wanting to eat, but not wanting what he is given. The fish swim around their tank hungrily and there is a distinct air of autumn about the place. Wait a minute! AUTUMN! Already! I am still waiting to wear some of my summer clothes. Stop! That’s not fair, we are going camping for the weekend in a couple of weeks. I am waiting for some more courgettes from the plants we re -potted a couple of months ago. We need to cut the lawn, paint the barge boards, build some decking, make a million. I suppose there’s next summer.
The words of William Morris strike resonance in his poem Autumn (I am a bit tired and jaded at the moment):
Laden Autumn here I stand
Worn of heart, and weak of hand:
Nought but rest seems good to me,
Speak the word that sets me free.