A lot of rot, maybe, but nothing smells quite like autumn
IT IS curious how different senses are ignited by the passing seasons. Spring, to my mind, is about sight, with the dizzying array of blossoms, iridescent leaves and emerald grass bursting alive from months of torpor.
Summer is about touch: of sun on skin and prickling sweat. Winter, too, we feel on our bodies when an icy wind whips us about the face.
But often it also arrives in the ears: rain drumming on a window pane or the soft silence of a morning blanketed in snow.
Autumn, well, that’s a simple one. It hits you, both barrels, in the nose.
It came to me late this week, cycling home on a chilly evening. Wood smoke mixed with raindrops and the first mouldering leaves. The bittersweet notes of September.
Of course there is more to it than those three things. For autumn is a cocktail with endless ingredients.
Add to it sharpened pencils and the tang of a fresh marker on a whiteboard. Or last year’s scarf which you vowed to get cleaned over summer and never quite did.
Back outside, in my garden I smell ripening quince, apple and summer foliage decomposing in the drain.
Walking through the ancient woods near my house, everything intensifies, stirred up by phytoncides: the natural defences emitted by plants to prevent bacteria and fungus.
Supposedly, phytoncides also boost human immune systems, too. All rot, perhaps, but I still gladly fill my lungs.
A mixed bag of typical autumnal weather awaits this weekend. In the north and west, expect rain showers and blustery winds. Further south and east, things look drier and warmer.
Towards the end of next week the weather folk also mention the possibility of autumn mists coming in. I am alive with anticipation. Think of it now: you can smell them before you can see them.