Jennospot 88 Cabbages and Chrysanthemums
Oi've got a real noice friend wot's called Ginny Rogers. Ginny writes stuff, mostly poetry, an' it's stuff wot makes yew fink, wot makes yew dream, an' often wot makes yew chuckle an' all. The ovver day Ginny showed me piece wot Oi loiked so much, Oi asked 'er wevver Oi could share it wiv yew on my blog, an' she said as 'ow Oi could. So 'ere it is, wiv greetin's from Ginny:
"On Cabbages and Chrysanthemums
The autumnal season baffles me. I revel in the red, russet and golden glory of the landscape. I squint cheerfully at the shafts of dazzling sunlight, and am gleefully surprised by the short startling showers of rain.
But - the heavy rainfall comes not as a happy surprise, nor the frosty cold and wet; ominous threat of a gliding, sliding pathway that could appear overnight, enhanced by autumnal snowfall. And then the wild wind, making stage appearance with full force.
Is this autumn or winter?
I like to believe in an autumn that heralds winter, the season when gold turns to grey, and light to darkness with smooth and gentle movement, rather than the harsh twist from soft obscurity into total gloom.
Today I dress in sandwich apparel, to insulate my body and add to my weight. I am no match for the wind. My cap flies off and I am jolted into accelerated mobility in a dervish dance. One glove, pulled over frozen fingers, falls to the ground. I remove the second to pick up the first, and sob at the sight of the two on icy earth. Fingers hurt with cold, even as I slip on wet gloves with polar hands and jam my cap on a now wintry head.
I continue on my autumn jaunt, and stop short to pay respect to a mass of orange-bordered crimson cabbages alongside tangerine and frenetic fuchsia chrysanthemums tended resolutely by someone making the most of the fleeting season. Here Autumn plays herald in tangible tone. Even as I squash tarnished leaves under my feet and raise my head to commiserate with trees in a state of undress, the riot of resilient colour brightens my path."
Oi ‘ope yew loiked that, an’ Oi ‘ope yew ‘ave an ‘appy season. By the way, it were me wot put in the picture, so don't yew go a-complainin' ter Ginny if'n it ain't ter yer taste.
Luv from Jenno.