By Sue Trollip
Chardonnay, rosé, burgundy, I’m drunk on the opulence of autumn.
I’ve spent most of my adult life living at the coast in the heat and humidity of the city with a view of the blue-green sea and its bucking sea horses. It was warm all year around with not much in the way of seasons. My view also consisted of houses dotted between streets and trees with splurges of purple jacaranda blossoms.
I still miss that sky, steel-green in a storm or with windswept clouds and shimmering blue heat. Don’t get me started on the sunrise over the horizon, where every colour you can imagine mingles until the day breaks.
In the semi-desert that I now call home there are cerulean coloured lakes and a babbling river, but the rest of the countryside is 500 shades of browns and greens. With a lot of effort, and large green thumbs, some gardens are an oasis of sunflowers, hollyhocks, daffodils and black-eyed Susan’s. Here the summer sky is monotonously perfect, every day it’s picture book blue with a big yellow sun. (Did that sound like a complaint? It’s not.)
Then one morning autumn arrived and every day since I’ve been dazed by the glamour of the diamond and ruby coloured leaves.
October is also the month of pumpkin spiced lattes and pumpkin shaped cookies and ghosts and ghouls and witches and candy. Halloween, in all its sugary splendour. I’ll keep you posted …
Until then I’ll return to my couch with a glass of merlot to ward off the slight chill in the air. I won’t think of what’s to come as winter approaches, instead I’ll raise my glass and drink a toast to the glory of autumn.