The tenth month of the year.
One of my favourites.
In all honesty, I could quite happily hibernate every summer, only emerging once the diary page has been turned over to October 1st.
Nights are now drawing in (as my dad used to say, it's getting late early), temperatures are droppping, leaves are falling, the hot drinks menu in the coffee shop has suddenly perked up and I've succumbed to the urge to dabble in the magic that is jam making. There's just a modest stash of jars on the shelf as no-one else here is a fan, but seeing them sitting there is oddly comforting. Elderberries from the tree at the bottom of the garden have been turned into immune system boosting syrup which is proving to be deliciously colourful atop a bowl of porridge.
October is also the month which will forever be associated with my mother's birthday. Or, to be more accurate, birthdays.
Until her 60s, she celebrated on the 25th. Then, a copy of her birth certificate was required to support her first passport application and she discovered the date her birth had been registered was the 23rd. My dad suggested she celebrate on both days thenceforth. So she did.
When the (now 4 year old) littlest visited with his mama recently, we spent an afternoon in the Priory near the Boy's apartment.
Leaving the littlest defending goal and his uncle attempting to score for the Reds, I wandered the otherwise deserted grounds where the hues of late summer were vying for attention alongside the autumnal palette.
The colours of October are undeniably stunning - the reds, yellows and oranges. Though I'd have to say I wouldn't be seen dead wearing any of them, nature does showcase the whole range so very well. It's an absolute masterclass on change.
Oh, yes, I love Octobers, me.