There is the child in me that forever wishes he could wear shorts. Shorts are my default trouser of choice. I've even managed to introduce the short into my workplace. It is with a heavy sigh and a fair degree of reluctance that I have to pull on a long trouser, be it for a formal occasion or leisure. Regarding the latter, Pete is a man of principle. His legs come out in April, and are stowed away again in September. On many an occasion, I've seen him either bake or freeze due to inappropriate leg wear.
My stubbornness to concede to summers-end has led to the odd chill now and then, but I do normally manage to push through to November before the social short is put away. There is much talk of Autumn currently, along with moans and groans. And while everyone is talking of golden leaves and bitter winds, this morning I could see only green. Lush and steely greens of all shades arguing that all is not over yet. These colours reminded me of my mum when I was younger, and her experimentation with cutting wine bottles.
There was a magical mystery about that glass cutting tool that would etch a thin line on the bottle surface, then with a precision tap from my Dad, the bottle would make a clean break in to two halves...or not! Green everywhere...and much the same this morning. Every field, every turn, more and more green carpet layout before me. Brilliant! And yet, all I have to do is look up and see the grey skies and feel the stiff breeze to realise also that change is coming. But I choose not to. My shorts remain on.
