My car was an autumn thing when I stepped out into the evening gloom yesterday. Parked as usual under the Westerly hedge, where it avoids the early frost of crisp winter evenings and provides both a parking habit and a regular walk to the side door I use to enter the building, it was slightly immersed in the leaf litter that is steadily obscuring the parking bays there. The Tyres appeared mired in a carpet and, on the roof and bonnet, a few stubborn leaves ignored the gentle tug of an attentuated breeze and gravity.
After badminton, or what passes for it in the Wednesday evening group I frequent, and the swift drink that I think is the real reason that some of the players attend, I had a quiet drive home. My own street, poorly served by municipal lighting, was bathed in the light of a near-full moon which shared its gap in the clouds with, what I take to be, Jupiter.
This morning we all shared a cloud, as mist defined the garden view. Only now burning off in a sunlight filtered through thin clouds. My car awaits another cover and I must work while the sun shines and the leaves fall.
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