It is the time of the year when I am glad there's a fiddle lying open in the case in the sitting room
. In a few days I will travel to Galway and play some Donegal tunes with a Clare friend. We will sit in by the fire and drink wine, talking about the state of the nation, the crapness of the economic situation and the depressing unemployment rate. But we will also refresh our souls with jigs, reels, hornpipes, marches, moussorkas and highlands. We will play till our finger tips burn and the string marks are indented on them. And we will forget about the rest of the world - that there is travelling to be done and dinner to be made, bills to be paid and ends to meet. Then we will close the cases and go to a proper session in the pub, where we will hear real musicians play real music and my appetite will be whetted once again - as if it needed it. Roll on the wintertime when I have an excuse to stay in and spend time with friends!
So the leaves are turning all sorts of colours on the colour wheel. Yellows to oranges to reds to browns, all shades imaginable. The park beside me is an artist's mecca for inspiration and the weather is as changeable as the fluid palette. Today was a glorious morning and the brisk walk past native the oak trees refreshing, but two days ago the wind howled at the windows and the leaves fluttered from the deciduous trees, swirling into the flowerbed and smothering the newly planted lavender cutting (stolen from a friend's garden). The clocks went back an hour yesterday and I'm still trying to figure out any logical reason why anyone would think this is a good idea. In a week the days will have got so much shorter that it will be dark in the morning when most people are crawling out of their beds anyway, but it will also be dark by 4pm soon too. So it will mean dark mornings will be coupled with short evenings...Thank god for music.