Getting the wind up…

If there were cobwebs to be blown away, then yesterday was the day to do it.

It really was a blowing away day, a good drying day if only you could have stopped the sheets from being ripped from the line and cast into the atmosphere. A Dorothy day as I call them; I almost expected to see an old woman on a bicycle riding high above the houses in the air. Trees down, waterfalls running backwards, huge waves at the seaside, and suddenly the leaves – which have been clinging on valiantly – are dropped all over the ground.

It’s an occasional thing, this getting hit by the tail end of a hurricane; another example of the US bestowing us with their leftovers. I don’t mean that in an unkind way, but honestly I think people would be quite happy for them to keep it all to themselves. Of course, by the time it hits us it’s just a bad storm, the hurricane all hurricaned out, hardly any swish left in the tail, just a strong wind that’s all.

But I do so love a windy day.

Sometimes, when I’m on the beach on a windy day, I pick up carrier bags, hold them in the air to fill them with wind and when I let them go they fly away along the beach all of a tumbling scatter. Once I found a huge sheet of black polythene and spent a happy hour flying it like an untethered flag on two strings, one in each hand, a plastic magic carpet floating above the sand.

Walking home last evening I was treated to the sight of four carrier bags playing chase high in the air above the roofs of the three storey houses. Tesco, pound shop, Sainsbury; it almost seemed as if they were dancing as they ducked and dived, not quite falling to earth, to be scooped up by another gust to dance their merry dance once more. It’s amazing how beautiful carrier bags can seem when filled with wind and set free. They reminded me of strange birds in some weird mating ritual, or the urban kite flyers that I once watched from my hotel window in Hyderabad.

Willy wind - you can’t see him, you can’t touch him, but you can feel him, and when he's strong he can really put the wind up you.

Counting leaves...

An explanation as to why there is no blog post today…

I have lots of ideas for blog posts, but today I’ve decided not to write anything. I decided this as I walked along Oxford Road this morning counting the leaves as they fell to the ground. I’d counted about forty-seven when the idea popped into my head not to write today. Well, why should I? It’s not like I’m getting paid for it or anything.

Crossing the road as the fifty-sixth leaf hit the ground I wondered why I bother to write at all. It’s not as if anyone’s life depends on it. Fifty-nine hit the ground as I ticked off the subjects I could, but wouldn’t, be writing about today. Why would anyone want to know why I haven’t yet got a tattoo on my right arm, even if it does look a little empty and could benefit from decoration, anyway?

A dog, a little further along the street, chased a piece of paper as the sixty-first leaf hit the tarmac just as I decided that I wouldn’t be writing about why various male Christian names are used as words to describe quite another male thing. Nor would I be writing about how our first names aren’t always that Christian at all, nor should be.

Seventy-eight and Chocolate Week was put on hold until another more inspirational day.

Eighty-one hit as two crows in the big tree at the end of the road seemed to look down at me as if I were a tasty snack. Slowly they decided to take off, flapping their big black wings as they gently disappeared into the distance whilst I gazed at eighty-eight, two fat ladies, swirling down in an eddy of wind, slowly drifting to land on a black bin with its handles turned towards the wall. Leaf ninety-six was crushed under the wheels of the recycling lorry as it turned the corner to pick up the bin which, no doubt, was full of empty wine bottles. Ninety-seven, ninety-eight, and ninety-nine followed swiftly.

There was a slight gap in the leaf dropping as the breeze seemed to die for a moment. I stood still listening to the noise of wine bottles hitting metal as the bin was emptied by a tall, running man in green overalls and a beard that seemed to be trying to dodge the drops of rain that had just started to fall.

I gazed up into the rain-filled air and in the tree above saw the one-hundredth leaf detach itself from its holding twig and float towards the ground. I hardly had to move my outstretched hand as it dropped towards me. A little step to the right, a readjustment of my half-clutched fingers, and it was in my palm. Palm, it made me think that perhaps I might write a post about Twin Peaks - but not today.

I lifted the leaf to my nose, taking in the sweet, coppery, late season vegetation smell and then carefully folded it away, tucking it into my pocket. For a moment as I held it I considered writing about what I was going to do with the leaf. But as I’ve already mentioned I’m not going to write a blog post today.

And that is why there isn’t one.

Evidence of autumn...

Well it seems to have arrived right on cue. There was a real chill in the air this morning and that, along with crisp emptiness that makes the birds sound like a tinny recording of themselves when they sing, seemed to say ‘autumn is here’. I wouldn’t call it mellow fruitfulness though. It didn’t quite feel mellow and if there was fruit to be had I couldn’t see it. Maybe autumn wasn’t here after all, as they say ‘one swallow doesn’t make a summer’.

Evidence is what I needed, evidence of autumn.

Creeping out of the yard gate and into the deserted entry I wondered what I might find. Would autumn be everywhere as if someone had flipped the autumn switch overnight and plunged us into a world of mists and bonfire smoke? Of course I was hoping to find spiders. You know, the big hairy ones that are everywhere this time of year apparently, real monsters big enough to eat a chicken whole. But the only spider I saw was a tiny pinprick of a creature sitting in the middle of his dew free web. I couldn’t even find one of those orange autumnally bloated slugs that seem to appear just after the summer has left as if they had sucked up the last of the sun and were storing it in their gooey bodies to get them through the winter.

Yes, perhaps the report of summer’s death and the arrival of autumn had been grossly exaggerated.

It was then that I spotted what I was looking for. A little further along the alley tucked up against a neighbour's back wall was a neatly swept pile of leaves. Now these weren’t ordinary leaves, and they weren’t M and S leaves either, these were definitely autumnal leaves. It was their colour that gave them away.

Mind you nature can be tricky, and she makes some leaves red and brown all year around without the need for autumn. So to be sure I picked up a handful to check for the rustle factor. The leaves felt dry and crisp in my hand and when I scrunched them they made a very satisfying dry rustle. These were indeed the first leaves of autumn. I bent to scoop up another handful and as I did a huge brown arachnid, one of those fabled spiders I’d read about in the papers, leaped towards me and clung to my hand.

That was evidence enough for me. So gently flinging the huge thing off my hand (I am not afraid of spiders you understand) I beat a hasty retreat to my back gate and safety once more. I had found autumn. That pile of swept up leaves was just the harbinger of things to come. Watch now how quickly the leaves will turn.