I grew up in Western Australia. We may have had a deciduous tree with changing leaf colour on my home farm or local town but I don’t recall it. Once I found a few red leaves beneath a eucalyptus. Such excitement! I did see autumnal colour before adulthood but never more than a few trees together.
I moved to England several years ago and began to see what all the northern hemisphere books of my childhood were on about: pale yellow leaves en masse; the occasional – and, hence, for me, sought after – red-leafed tree; a dash of orange perhaps. It’s a pleasurable way to mark the transition to colder months but, at least where I live, leaves are brown and crunchy by the time they fall to the ground – or become so very quickly. The real beauty lies in the dark intricacies of bare winter trees. Autumn is a passage more than a destination.
In Norrkoping, Sweden, I finally got autumn.
This, as I alighted from the train:
Three cheers for responsible pet ownership. There’ll be no native bird, mammal or reptile deaths while this Swedish owner/companion is in charge.
Signor Porridge is giddy with excitement.
So much so that he barely knows what’s up and what’s down.
While one man wheels his belongings along a London street……two hundred metres, an adulthood of dedication and lucky rolls of the dice away, another man takes a call on the latest iPhone from a statue of Newton. —————————–
The statue of Newton is in the courtyard of the British Library in London. Use your phone’s QR Reader to activate the call which provides information about Newton.
Last night I saw live flamenco.
Almost unknowingly, I have carried it with me since my childhood in rural Australia.
My grandmother returned from an overseas trip with a gift from Spain – an ersatz tortoise-shell comb to add drama to one’s hair. It features a delicate painting of a pair of flamenco dancers. Their tiny, slender bodies emanate grace and drama. (As a child I couldn’t see the passion.) Continue reading