It has a beautiful sadness about it though - and September is a wonderful month. Adam, our forefather, probably opened his eyes into an Autumn garden. A garden that was Paradise.
When you think what beautiful gardens we, his imperfect and dying children, have created, how beautiful must that garden have been? A garden planted by Jehovah himself.
Anyway, for the moment its lost. And that Horseman of Sickness is riding hard. Everyone seems to be ill, or having accidents. The poor Captain is getting worse - was at the doctors this morning - and is now sleeping. One of my brothers in the congregation has just had a bad fall, another is down with a bad fluey cold, and so it goes.
I only did three quarters of an hour with Audrey this morning, as I wanted to get back to Him Indoors and see how he was. But we got a lot of return visits done. She has given me a DVD produced by the Watchtower Society. Its the Noah and David one. I look forward to seeing it.
A quiet day now - housework after our visitors - I am doing the usual sheet and towel wash and having a general sort and tidy. And I am reading James Herriott to the Captain - it is cheering us both up.
I wrote these little poems about a Sheffield September many years ago.
SEPTEMBER IN SHEFFIELD
Warmed in the glow of the afternoon sun
Basil claws at his shaggy brown carpet mum
I write my letters and drink my tea
Basil cleans and preens and purrs at me.
In a sunny September in Sheffield
Basil and I
Sun ourselves under the bluest sky
You could imagine
No summer sun could ever compare
With the Autumn sun , this atmosphere
In which Basil basks, and I purr.
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