For the first time since the year began – and probably since about October last year – I pulled on my pair of Red Wing boots this morning, thus signifying winter. When I walked out the door it was 11 degrees outside and, besides my boots, I wore a woollen jumper and a padded jacket.
I’m a believer in global warming and climate change in general. You’d have to have rocks in your heads these days not to, though naturally many with gravel for brains deny it. All the same, it seems to me winter pretty well comes the same time every year.
This is not true winter, of course. Autumn is a season of transition, from bright summer to austere winter. In my memory, almost all of March is what I’d describe as summer/autumn, which has been the same this year – warm, bright days more often than not. Then, about the last weekend of March – often coinciding with Easter, and with the end of daylight saving – the weather will turn, it will become autumn/winter.
The days become cooler. The clouds crowd in. We’ve had no rain practically all year, but this morning it was steady for a few hours, and will come again soon.
We’ll still get the odd warm day and throwback to summer, days in the mid or even high twenties, but they’ll be past too in a months time.
I don’t mind too much. It’s been a bloody hot summer, plus I love my Red Wings, and prefer winter fashion to summer. And – I reckon – I write better in this weather. I’ll enjoy the cosiness for it over the next few months but reckon, come August, I’ll have had my full of it. Just as well we have seasons.