where art collides philosoperontap

Not many of them left now,  the leaves. On the trees that is. They are mostly on the ground psyching themselves up for removal into a black plastic bin liner and thence either to the compost heap or the green bin. The green bin most likely. Our compost heap is no longer a heap but a black plastic container purpose built for composting. I think it is still full from a couple of seasons back. Outside the light is beginning to fade. It’s only just after 4pm. Doesn’t seem like yesterday when at this time of day I would have been wearing a pair of shorts sipping a cold beer and getting ready for the bbq. No matter. I like the Autumn. I like the slow slide towards Christmas. I like all the planning of parties that goes on. I like the parties themselves too of course. I’m wearing a coat as I write this. I put the heating on but it takes a while to kick in. I figured I’d just sit here and write. No agenda. No specific subject. Just killing a bit of time. It’s an odd concept the killing of time, especially when employing a keyboard to do so. Die time, your time is up!! The wind is getting up. I can hear it. Maybe it gets louder as the trees lose their foliage. The conservatory is a noisy place to be when the wind is like this. Looking up I can see sycamore seeds bouncing around.