The Last Rose of Autumn

I wanted to take a few photos this morning, and when I plugged my camera into my computer to transfer them, I found that the last batch of photos that I had taken, fifteen days ago, revealed a very different world.

Originally, I had planned to try to do a photograph out over the front garden every day, but this effort was defeated by my inability to find my battery charger for some ten of those days. [Note to Self: Become Better Organised in the New Year]. But of those first snaps, I found this image, of one of the last of our roses from last autumn, before the cold finally settled in.

I am a fan of roses, but I don't put a lot of effort into their cultivation. It's generally a pleasant surprise when they grow well, as has this one particular bush. I'm looking forward to the late days of winter, when I can get out and trim back the roses (as well as savagely curtail the butterfly bushes, as they seem to do just fine, and they won't attack our cars in summer if properly snipped in spring). But for now, these last roses, frozen in time, were a reminder that summer will come again, even if I am currently finding winter depressing, for a whole host of reasons.

The stark difference in colour is clear, as well, from this photograph of the hummingbird feeder. Even in winter, without snow, there are muted greys, browns, as well as the never-completely-gone greens. Again, in the space of a mere fifteen days, how easy it is to forget.

Finally, though, was the real reason for taking pictures this morning, which was a reminder to myself. I haven't been reading the Art of Manliness much recently, but I feel that I already know their feelings on this point: real men shovel snow. GHR is always surprised when I insist on doing it, even when I hadn't gotten round to getting a proper shovel and was using a small, flat-bladed spade instead. It's just something that should be done, that falls within my purview in our domestic menage. No carping, no moaning about the cold, or about how my feet might get chilly: wrap up warm, wear gloves and a sensible hat, and get to it. That was how I spent my morning.

Finally, do note the thermometre to one side in this last image, which will give you an idea of how chilly it was. Not bad at all. In fact, if it were Antartica, it would be an incredibly balmy day indeed. Apart from the hope of finding a pair of Krynoid pods, I sometimes entertain the thought that travel to Antartica might be a fascinating jaunt. Perhaps slightly chilly, though. But just think of that as you deal with your next blast of snowy weather: it could always be worse.