Meteorological autumn has arrived with September: it's autumn now, fair and square.
Autumn feels like a gentle bleach washing the streets clean of summer's grease and heat; replacing it with a comforting carpet of leaves.
Each year I collect leaves and display them in baskets and on windowsills. I struggle to let them go once spring arrives, yet I know I have to because that's how things go. I find them crumbling in pockets and at the bottom of bags and laid out carefully in the foot-well of the passenger seat of my car, only to be crushed by an unsuspecting and unexpected passenger.
'Mind the leaves' should be my new refrain.
I just read this beautiful and poetic article about the secret life of fog, and although it can appear during any season - even in the desert as illustrated in the article - I particularly associate fog with the colder months, mostly autumn.
Early morning layers of it burn away in the sun, while dusky blankets of it swathe a dark November eve.
Winter is harsh and summer so brash and in-your-face, but autumn is the perfect season of fog for me. I also realise now how underrated it is and how clever it can be; transporting microbes far and wide and spurring relationships between them in unforeseen places.
Continually I wonder: is there nothing in nature that isn't well thought out, intricate, delicate, careful, deliberate and eye-opening? For all that we know and discover daily, oh we still have so much to learn and nature is our best teacher.
For now I'm going to stick with my leaves and start my collection in earnest. I might meditate over the wonders of fog, too.