Last week it was still autumn, ‘season of mists and mellow fruitfulness’. Yet before it was properly over, winter elbowed its way in with nearly a foot of snow, ‘deep and crisp and even’. The poor old relics of the ancient Sussex oak forests, still growing in the garden next door had barely even started shedding their load of russet and gold leaves, before being deluged with snow by the bucketful. Snow lining the branches of evergreen trees I’m familiar with, but snow laying on swathes of autumn leaves looks decidedly weird.
Now the temperature is rising, the snow is starting to melt, and the metre long icicles are shrinking. At last the autumn leaves are free again to fall as they should, and the slowly thawing blanket of snow still covering the grass is gradually being littered with brown leaves. In fact the garden is beginning to resemble the coat of a giant liver spotted dalmatian.
Winter snow, autumn leaves, what a strange mixture!