All the leaves are brown/ and the sky is gray

Recently, I've noticed the seasons more. In the last few years, I've found myself hyper-attuned to winter mellowing to spring, summer blowing in, autumn creeping up, and winter shutting everything down.

I don't remember being this aware of the seasons as a kid. They just seemed to appear one day, fully in swing, with almost no transition from one to another. Now, as autumn follows an almost non-existant summer in London, I find myself looking around and saying 'Oh, the leaves can't be falling yet. Surely, it's not time for them to. And the drizzle. We've got at least another month before the never-ending drizzle starts again.'

Strangely, the aspect where this becomes most obvious to me is in my knitting. Now, I've only really been knitting since April this year. But as spring turned to summer, I found myself attracted to bright, bold yellows and reds. Deep clear blues, vibrant greens, and luscious purples were also noticed, but it was mostly the yellows and reds and oranges that caught my eye, begging to be made into sometime that would encapsulate summer.

Now that autumn's come around again, I find myself being drawn towards muted oranges, raspberries, and browns like walking through a forest on a clear day when the leaves are turning all around you. Like Indian Summer, from Cherry Tree Hill. I'm making a pair of the ubiquitous Monkey Socks by Cookie A. out of a skein and every time I pull them out to work on I marvel at the colours. There have been days that I've been so enamoured of the colourway that I've sat it on my desk at work (to the derision of my co-workers) just so that I can look over at it. It makes my day better.