Last Gasp of Autumn

Sunday was the kind of day that we used to call ‘unseasonably mild’:  17 C (62 F) in mid-November. I wonder if it’s now ‘seasonably’ mild? In any case it felt like spring, not winter, was around the corner. In my garden the rambling rose which began flowering in April is again in bud.

The last of the falling leaves were calling me outside. My bed was warm, but the sunlight was warmer. I think this might be my last ‘long’ run for a while. I managed an hour, stopping to walk sometimes, taking my weekly mileage to a weakling 15.

Enough of the self-pity, it was an amazing run.  As I crossed the top of Alexandra Palace park I was on a literal and metaphorical high. I slowed down to savour the view: trees, newly empty of leaves; a blue mist over miles of rooves and chimneys; a couple sitting on a bench far away enough always to look happy.

Mid-way across the park, this song came on my i-pod. Like all the best Low songs, it sounds like sadness and glory, fear and hope. It could make a grown woman, running across a sunlit park on a November day, cry.  Especially me.