Everywhere I go I find myself watching the trees, drinking in the colours of leaves gently turned towards the fire end of the spectrum. Horse chestnuts have had a bad year with disease and seem pleased to shrivel their canopies to brown arthritic hands; brittle. Maples and Oaks are tinged with oatmeal or bright berry shades, often in patches where a branch has been caught by the season, leaving contrast with the still green remainder. The car-park hornbeams are yellow above and still verdant below; lemon iced.
The car glass has been mopped for more than two weeks already, but this morning the roof was traced with coral fans of ice crystals that spread onto the wind-shield, since I was parked the wrong way and the morning's warmth could not work its melting act.
We re-launched the boat on Monday, trying to calmly eat some sandwich while the hull was lowered once more into its natural environment. We never doubted that the re-assembled sea-cocks would seal, nor that the stern gland would accomodate its new cutlass bearing without a leak, but it was good to check and to take a deep breath before trying to tie to our new mooring up the river. Polishing that hull, standing on the hard on Sunday, we caught some sun.
The weather has turned a corner (as the wind has, literally turned) bringing cold nights and bright days that don't breach the curtains until 7am and by now, at 7pm, have faded to grey. We are excited to be able to sail again, but are thinking of warm socks and boots, scarves and cocoa and bracing breezes.
