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An Autumn Day Dallied in Daylesford …

Is this going to be a cheesy blog post going on about the beauty of Autumn? Is this going to be all flowery descriptions (“sunburnt leaves,” “crunchy red” “weak sunlight streaming on lemon, orange and cranberry coloured leaves?”) – something akin to a travel brochure for no particular thing, only called “Autumn?”

Perhaps.Perhaps it is, perhaps it will be quite indulgent actually. (I’m sorry.) Because, you see, Autumn is no doubt one of the most interesting seasons.

A lot of you spring babies, snow fiends and summer lovers will disagree with me and that’s cool … Remember, the Declaration of Independence which promises liberty and freedom of speech for everyone (apart from anyone who wasn’t a middle class, white man) actually hang on, wrong country. We don’t have a declaration of Independence in Aussie land but, I assure you, ‘she’ll be right, mate!’

What will be right? . . . I’m not sure, you’ve confused me!

Now I’m off on a terrific and terrible tangent again, forgive me oh patient reader! … That’s right, I was convincing you that Autumn is the best season, I really think it is.

For starter, for starters! (Don’t get me started!) What other season goes by another name? Autumn is also called Fall. Fall.

Autumn. Autumn, Fall: same same. Compared to its cousins of Summer (also called Summer) and Spring (known by no other name unless you think of that stretchy thing inside mattresses as a separate season.) Winter? Winter … hmmm, winter can be thrown around a bit, ie. You hear theatrical people moaning the (symbolic) “winter” of their lives. But then again, you don’t really hear that.

Yet Autumn, oh cool and crisp and wondrous (I told you this would read like a travel brochure) season!, you are superior! Superior? Hmmm, actually… I don’t know if it is “superior” if you want to get all technical. Perhaps Spring, with all its newness and dancing baby calves and rows of flowers and soft meadows filled with buttercups, elves and hayfever, is superior. New life and all that! Smiley face here …

Yet, Autumn just has this drawcard about it … you see leaves falling, fallen, fallen who knows when and it just looks pretty. You can jump and stomp and crunch your way through leaves. Trees that are ordinarily green turn red, and orange and yellow, although not necessarily in that order.

Think about that for a second: the trees turn red, green turns orange. Leaves die and fall off but this is not a bad thing, in its place will soon come something fresh and new. I’m an Autumn baby so I’m obviously bias but I just love this season…

Right now, as we speak (well if speaking is communication and I’m writing something that you’re reading and you’re reading something I’m writing then it’s like a conversation, isn’t it!?!) I’m sitting in Daylesford.

The air is crisp, like a walk early in the morning and every now and again leaves dance around the main street, greeting both honeymooning couple and teenageralike. Groups of people or individuals come in contact with the drifting leaves, as they gently circulate the street and beyond.

Even right now, as I sit outside, my hands are getting cold. A girl at a table next to me is wearing fingerless gloves, used to wrap around a cigarette with one hand and a mobile phone in the other. But the best thing – the best thing – about Autumn in a place like this are these old old trees. Trees hundreds of years old that carry on and on, each year shedding their skins and then getting a new one.

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