Autumn

I am here 'showing up to write' at 5.30 a.m., unable to sleep. I tried, but I have just been lying in bed, head swimming with thoughts and plans. I heard an airplane cruising high above the valley just now, a sound not usually heard in these parts and it reminded me of the times when I used to fly between Hong Kong and London, dozing in the darkness, looking out on the solitary light on the wing tip blinking away, listening to the roar of the jet trail falling away from me. I thought about the coldness of dawn and the pale winter sun looming over the horizon. It's the time between night and dawn which holds so much excitement and mystery for me. Perhaps that is why I can't sleep, my head is full of new beginnings.

So, I am now sitting here at the computer, watching a faint bloom spreading from behind the mountains, it will be light in another hour.

Yesterday, I detected the first real smell of autumn. The year has turned. I saw pumpkins for the first time on the stalls at the market and the swallows have departed for Africa. It's always a sad time for me. I mourn the loss of summer like a long lost friend as my thoughts turn to darker times; October and the winter beyond. I love to travel with the trees on their journey to sleep, watching the flaming reds and oranges of the solitary beeches and sandy browns of the larches eventually turn to grey. It's an imperceptible process that remains largely undetected by the naked eye. When the branches are stripped, standing alone against the green pines, the snow will come. We will be blanketed in white by mid-November.

It's been raining. We still manage to play outside, between showers. Sitting in the girl's cabin when the downpours get just too heavy. We are talking of red Indians, making tipis and baking bannock over an open fire. We have given each other native American names: my eldest is Smiling Rabbit (the first visitor she had after her birth at home was our pet bunny), my youngest is Little Fox (I heard foxes screeching outside the hospital room during her first night in the world) and I am Silver Eye (my mother told me that I opened one eye to greet her on the day I was born). Last night they wanted me to sing some simple songs to them as they went to sleep. So, in the dark I heard my voice blessing our fire, whispering to the wind in the trees and calling for a deer to give us meat for our pot, skins for our bed and antlers for our knife handles.

Today the girls want to collect wood, they want to make a fire outside their cabin, make a tripod out of branches and hang a kettle over the flames with water for tea. The sky is clear, the sun will shine.

We do all this as others think about going back to school. I hear of friends' children buying books and pens and new satchels, stocking up on all that is required for the new year. We want to buy sheath knives and axes. My mind is awash with ideas. I haven't been able to sleep for three nights, restlessly turning things over in my mind.

I can make out shapes now as I look through the window into the garden. The picnic bench, the roof of the cabin, the chairs stacked against the fence. An inflatable dinosaur lies haphazardly next to the sand pit. The days of summer are nearly over, today may be our last trip to the beach. I think it is time to chop some wood for the stove.