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I've been musing on my age. Not in a mournful way but choosing to embrace some of the changes the passing years bring.
In the last few weeks I've noted the early signs of the forthcoming season in the hedgerows and verges, and been drawing parallels. If I consider the cycle of life to equate to the four seasons then I am firmly in my autumn.
Everywhere there are small developments; leaf colours altering, outlines crisping, decay advancing. These changes are beautiful in close-up. Purples and reds appear, tall stems bleach and display their downy seedheads, bug-eaten lacework glows.
It's a busy environment full of moths and spiderwebs, stripey snails and still a few butterflies. Lots to celebrate as I wander the lanes with Bruce.
My autumn years are made of individual days which are colourful, busy, varied and happy. There are of course the headachey ones, the frustrating and disappointing ones, the sad or self-doubting ones too but these make the good days, hours, minutes all the sweeter.
And yes, my views may be rose-tinted on this sunny morning. They may also be coloured by what we all lost and gained during the pandemic. But I choose to believe I have mellowed, and continue to be grateful that I am able to derive pleasure from so many simple sources.
Never stop looking and wondering!