As the year moves relentlessly forward, signs of the ineluctable change of season make themselves known. The leaves begin to fall, and I begin to chop and saw wood. It would be untrue to say that I look forward to this chore; chores, by their very nature, are not events to which we look forward with desire, unless overcome with boredom and ennui. Not being in that unhappy state, I passed a pleasant couple of hours getting back into the swing of an axe and the din of the chain saw. In the winter months to come, my hands will be so cold when performing these tasks that the pleasures of yesterday may well be absent. Being a balmy, sunny day, yesterday was not a harbinger of what is to come.
Sitting on the stack of cut wood in the shady interior of the dépendance, I enjoyed a tea time snack of fresh bread topped with slivers of Parmesan, lubricated with good olive oil, whilst looking out at the warm autumn colours of the garden. January will not offer the same delights.