Very soon, the day after tomorrow in fact, autumn will be upon us. In Australia, it is rarely experienced as a "season of mists and mellow fruitfulness" but rather as a slow, steady easing into the colder months of the middle of the year. As March fades, April ushers in the cooler mornings and nights (though midday might still be warm and sunny), while May has "a spider-light that holds but never stays." The last of the leaves that are going to fall now lose their purchase and tumble.

As I said two posts ago, autumn brings out the mild melancholic in me. It is not depression, but a lingering sense of loss, made concrete by what I see about me. Who can help it - all that is fecund is in retreat. But it is such an achingly beautiful time, and such are its rhythms that I would not miss it for a thousand summers.