I always associate this time of year with Spring: daffodils, crocus, the chirp of birds flitting through the air making nests. Here, though, it means autumn, though without any of the signs one is used to from nature, just darker evenings and lower temperatures.
Am looking forward to sleeping in a bed again, under a roof. I know it is by far preferable to enjoy the rough cold and that I must embrace it, but still, one is at times wistful of comfort.
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