Inevitably, as day follows night, as sons on school trips don’t keep in contact with their mums (a personal observation that one), the glorious autumn display of the Japanese maple has ended.
Practically overnight the red leaves have dropped onto the underlying pavement. It is as if the tree, suddenly overcome with embarrassment, abruptly let go of the gaudy red leaves, and sheepishly returned to its normal elegant discretion. She had a giddy moment, put on a spangly frock for a week long party, then threw it on the floor to face the business of winter in a sharply cut suit.
Nature writers (if I can humbly align myself to that tribe) are not supposed to anthropomorphise their subjects ... but where’s the fun in that?
Talking of which, That Cat seems a little pudgier of late. Too many pies, or simply the consequence of no longer being a teenager?
