Autumn

Autumn is the reigning King at the moment- dressed in splendid robes of burnt gold, orange and red. Summer is like the aged lion that is trying to make a last stand. The lion roared on Saturday but really it knows it’s supremacy has passed. Now it’s Autumn’s time. The hot cider is preferable to it’s chilled cousin at Borough market. You want a glass of red wine with dinner, not white or rose. You need socks (or even slippers) on in the house, and that extra jumper. You pull the blankets up tight around you at night and the scents you crave match the leaves on the trees- deep ambers, aged and warm.

Then there is the little Prince of winter. He is growing in power. You can start to feel his magic moving in- you catch it in the sharp wind over the bridges of London sometimes. You can feel it in the dew on the grass and when the darkness falls unnaturally early. You can see it on the stone cold walls of the churches which are mostly empty, they are almost aching for winter, for Christmas, to be filled with people and singing.

For now though it’s Autumn. The briefest but most magnificent of seasons. Put on your winter coat, get outside and kick the leaves. Long live the King of seasons.

The "Fighting Temeraire" Tugged to her Last Berth to be Broken up, before 1839
by William Turner.

Available from www.allposters.co.uk here.