Ch, ch, ch, changes.

There's change afoot amongst the stands, a subtle change maybe, but it's definitely there. The verdancy of the trees is fading, as slowly the colour drains from the canopies under the influence of autumns sweet caress. I've noticed over the past decade or so that one aspect of the climate crisis on the seasons is how  it's altered their duration. The tenure of the more perceivably fixed seasons, Summer and Winter, has reduced, whilst the tenure of the more mutable seasons of transition, Spring and Autumn, have expanded their range. I have to be honest, it's a change that suits my sensibilities, having always had a deep love and affinity with Spring and Autumn in particular, their fluidity and strikingly different beauties as a consequence. And, it's not just the seasons which are changing. I'd read/listened to an article shared online by a friend before our walk this morning, and it weighed heavily on my mind as sat in contemplation amongst a cluster of trees I favour, against the mossy trunk of a veteran oak I've known for years. How do you come to terms with living through the beginning of the end of everything? It sounds extreme I know, and maybe as if I've given up any hope of change, though more and more it becomes the realistic trajectory on which humanity has set itself. I'm hoping that acceptance will stop me from falling further down the fear-anger-hate rabbit hole. I suppose there's some solace to be found in knowing that the planet will endure, we may not, much of the flora and fauna we know and love may not, but the world most certainly will, she will green herself and flourish again. As I mused on, the forest butted in, 'Oi, I'm still here' it said, and I though yeah, enjoy it why we can, because everything is changing.