A damp November Sunday under COVID-19 lockdown in the UK.
‘Damp’ is one of those understatements I adopted while spending half my life in Cornwall: the rain showers are interrupted by brief spells of light rain.
I am walking my dog down local country lanes in a chill wind and rain, with falling leaves under grey skies.
Not much cheer?
That depends on the perspective:
The rain is washing soil off the land and getting me wet and dirty. Bit it also replenishes our water resources.
The cold spells death to vegetation and the wind rips leaves off trees. And this reveals the colour and texture of other parts of nature: fruit and lichens, bark and branches.
It provides nourishment for organisms that live off dead plant matter and it prepares the space and conditions for renewal.
Am I looking at the end or the beginning of a cycle?