Autumn colours

How to write the seasons without falling into a pile of cliches, heaped up like autumn leaves (do you see what I did there). I am struggling for words today, I have been mooching in the drizzle this morning, reaching instead for my phone camera to capture the changing colours. In cities we are encouraged to be disconnected from the seasonal turn, it can take effort to seek it out, it must be glimpsed as you turn a corner. If it happens every year, why the fuss? There must be some ancient button pushing going on in my brain, reacting to the ripe reds (berries and fruits for winter stores), plus all the flaming oranges and yellows, no wonder we reach for flickering campfire words, those old memories are etched deep. Once the only way to survive was to stick together in those evening gatherings, watching shadows play across faces.

If you’re lucky, you might have happy childhood memories too, collecting conkers in the local park, kicking your new wellies through piles of crunchy leaves. Although before we get too nostalgic I will add my mother’s voice from across the years “careful, there might be poo!”. Sometimes there was, and when there was, it was magnetically drawn to pram wheels, sparking parental muttering and bitten lips at voicing just what she thought of irresponsible dog owners. Shit happens kids. I spent most of my 20s fairly oblivious to the charms of my local park, seeing it mainly as a more pleasant route to the local high street than a busy traffic choked road, it wasn’t somewhere I spent much time. Then at 28 I found myself a new mother, seemingly endlessly lapping the paths, hoping the swaying branches would soothe my tiny son. I would cast quick darting glances down into the buggy, seeing his shiny brown eyes like bright marbles gazing upwards into the changing leaves. I walked miles before those eyelids finally drooped. Another autumn has rolled around and now that tiny baby is a face on a video call once a week, updating on his university exploits, and I am no longer involved in his sleep routine.

Hanging out with small children is simultaneously exhausting and wonderful. The trick is to try and spot the wonderfulnesses as they happen, often so briefly. Working at Forest School I am gifted many opportunities, and amongst all the essential routines and requirements, amongst the mundane toilet checks and EYFS related observations, there is still an expansiveness, plenty of space for wonder. Sometimes I will spot a child just standing and gazing, carefully taking in the interplay of light and leaves on a mature oak. One child, new to the setting, is constantly on the move, testing the boundaries of the garden, considering everything, there are so many layers to his mapping. His support needs mean that he has 1:1 supervision from an adult, and he frequently puts things in his mouth. One day last week I was working with him and noticed him scoop up several shiny conkers from the floor of the cabin. The risk assessing part of me was ready to swoop, but as I watched, he carefully placed the conkers onto a nearby low shelf along with a display of leaves, sticks and crocheted pumpkins, an impromptu altar of autumn offerings. He patted them into place, stood back and considered his handiwork before hurtling off again.

Other good memories from the week are linked to the children’s opportunities for creative expression, and conversations with fellow practitioners about providing good quality art supplies for preschoolers. Nothing more disappointing than those ‘free’ packets of crayons dished out with printed colouring sheets at chain restaurants, they make such insipid marks. Lucky are the children who have richly pigmented pastels or really good quality pencils and paints. The excitement of discovering leaf rubbing for the first time, such a simple technique and so satisfying seeing the delicate traceries of veins appearing. Whether you call the colours reds, yellows, oranges, or metallic gold, copper, bronze or arty fancy crimson and ochre, it’s all an approximation, an attempt to represent the huge diversity of autumn hues, sometimes even across one single leaf.

And so I have written myself into joy, saturated myself with colour, and now I’m heading off to the park in my bright yellow raincoat to unleash my inner toddler and collect leaves and other treasures for my nature table. And to keep myself grounded I will remember my mother’s immortal words.

Top photo shows a magnificent spiderweb beaded with mist and dew, gorgeous! One photo didn't seem quite enough today, so here are a few more:





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