Autumn Already…

First September Blog
AUTUMN, Already’.photo (1)
My, isn’t the year drawing in quckly now!  It seems to me that, once August had passed this year, in fact, BEFORE August had passed, the weather in my area  had gone chill, damp, (well, a bit more than just damp, very wet from time to time – this time last year, the weather was in the middle of a tremendous heatwave, so hot, I went aound in the house in my undies!!! – not the prettiest of sights, believe me).  This year, I am not only wearing triple layers of tops, but, since last night, have had some heating on in the living room, because sitting without any, I am already growing icicles all over!!!
. The Jet Stream, instead of wafting somewhere across  Sweden, is surging across the South of England, heading for The Continent.  Unprecedented, to say the least.  It has been said that we are on the tail-end of a hurricane or something similar, coming across the Atlantic and taking our normally not bad summer and chasing the sun and warmth away.       But, people,  is it only me?  Does anyone else feel this way about abnormal weather conditions?
I apologise to those who do not give a hoot about the weather, anywhere, good, bad or indifferent.  But for me, it has always been a) of interest to me, and b) affected by it, in every way.
I often write poems that are based upon seasons, temperatures, the way weather affects the world, my country, the birds, creatures, insects and plants that share the  world about us.
To illustrate -:   A Poem –
Rain drops dripping
Days and days,
Beyond my window,
Green surveys.
Faster than the
Lightning bugs,
Trees and bushes,
Winter shrugs.
All the emerald
Shades abound,
From pale to dark,
It’s all around.
And when the sun
Begins to break,
Golden hues,
On green leaves, make.
Covering branches,
Blotting out
The precious brightness,
All about.
Soon the clippers
In my maw
Will strip the green
Things from my door.
So I can see
The garden gay,
And watch the sunlight
All the day
Copyright. Evelyn J. Steward, April, 2014
And to illustrate, yet again,
The Solstice points the midway mark,
We joyously sing, like a summer skylark.
We pray the days will endless be
And the sun to shine for eternity.
But over the top of Solstice high,
A few days on, a change in the sky.
Its blue has a different coloured note,
Not cornflower bright, but a greeny throat.
“It’s autumnal already,’ my daughter cries,
‘You know I can tell it from the skies.’
And sure enough, A greeny hue
Bedecks a sunlit sky of blue.
The heat remains, it comforts me
That autumn days have yet to be.
A shortning of the daylight hours,
The disppearing of brilliant flowers
As if to say, well, soon enough,
The wind and rain, a chilly bluff.
All this time, we hold most dear,
When spring is past and summer’s near.
At least that’s how I do behold
A summer day, a dawn of gold.
But as the seasons gently merge,
I fear the coming winter splurge.
The icy tendils, a winter storm,
The frozen patterns in windows, form.
I love the warmth, it cossets me,
Dispelling summer, it has to be.
For living in this temperate clime,
I wish it were summer all the time.
Copyright  Evelyn Steward. July 2014 .
You see, I am moved by seasonal changes.  I like to put part of the outside world into my books and stories, no matter where they are set.  The title of my WIP, “THOSE TANGERINE HILLS”, is a depiction of the area where the novel is mainly set.  It is a real place, though names of the local Towns have been changed.  But the sight of the hillside across the lake in October, on certain days, is one to behold, though you have to be up at sunrise to see it.
You see, the trees on the hill across the lake at that  time of year (when I was there) change to the most gorgeous autumnal colours.  All shades of red, yellow, gold, orange, brown are predominant (deciduous trees) but they intermix with the various greens of the conifers.  When the sun rose behind the house where I was staying, it tipped the very top of the hills opposite, lighting the trees.  As the sun rose higher this side of the lake, the bright sunlight moved down the opposite hillside, making the colours blend into one harmonious shade.
Often, the colours merge and show orange, but sometimes, that colour becomes, not orange but a more delicate shade of tangerine.  As the sun rises further up the sky on this side of the lake, and touches the hills lower down on the opposite side of the lake, the colour heightens.  But when the sun is high enough and its rays reach the water’s  edge, the brightness fades and the colours seem to separate into individual leaf colours.   The hills take on a kind of ordinary look, even though there is a beautiful lake at their foot, houses and a roadway.
One of my Creative Writing  tutors said that we should use colour as much as we could to illustrate what you were trying to say in your book.  She also advised that we describe sound, hearing, taste and so on through the senses.  I have tried to remember that tutor’s advice, hopefully.  I see the surtoundings in the colours I want them to be and try to show that to my readers.  Same with sound, explain how things sound, the birds, a train, a car revving etc., you get the picture.  Again, taste can express so many feelings that the reader can pick up on.
If you do not see things this way, why not try it.  Eggs and bacon say.
“”Jack picked up  two brown-shelled eggs from the basket.  The frying pan was heating on the stove, crackling where the oil began to warm.  He had recently changed to coconut oil and this was beginning to spit under the high heat where the pink slices of bacon sizzled.  Next he cut chestnut mushrooms into thick slices, adding a few baby tomatoes to add colour with their juicy ripe redness standing out amongst the black-gilled mushroom slices.
Cracking the first egg, its viscous content slipping easily into the hot oil, his mouth began to salivate.   Immediately, the white albumen solidified around the deep yellow yolk of these free range beauties.   It was followed by egg number two.  So inviting, so tasty, Jack moistened his lips as he watched the yolks cloud over as he flipped oil over them. These were joined by a slice of thick white bread.  Normally, he did not eat white bread now, having changed, to wholemeal for his health.  (He smiled at his thoughts.  No one could say this was a healthy diet, but it was only a one-time thing.  A slice of white bread, fried golden brown on both sides, just added to the ambience of the meal, his secret treat.)””
Do you all see where I am going with this.  It can apply to all things.  “”Smoke coursing up a tall chimney, belching out of the chimneypot like black treacle.””  This statement gives you movement, colour, viscosity in one short sentence.
So, this is my point for today.  Some books, it is true, often had little description and were lauded for it.  But personally, i feel those are not easily understood or wanted for light reading.  Only my opinion.
Be good to yourselves and others, dear people.



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