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Autumnal end-game<\/p><\/div>This is the time of year when I am most closely reminded of the cycles of time and their steady acceleration. <\/p>\n
I am steeped in all the evidence. <\/p>\n
It is a beautiful autumnal morning, vivid green foliage almost vibrating against deep blue skies. Some trees already start to turn: the leaves of the apricots and pomegranates are going golden, while those of the serviceberries and sumacs are edged in scarlet. <\/p>\n
Our bees begin to harvest ivy-flower nectar; our hens start laying more erratically. Afternoons darken early, while mornings and nights are cold, sending us to work in the wrong clothing, sweating and uncomfortable in midday heat. The aurora borealis comes into season (or rather it becomes dark enough to appreciate at our latitude, on rare occasions). You look up at the waning moon, rising orange over the horizon, and swear it was waxing only yesterday. <\/p>\n
The roses throw out a last desperate show of blooms. Some crops wither and die \u2013 courgettes, beans and cucumbers \u2013 while others still yield: grapes, tomatoes, chillies, apples, pears. Pumpkins ripen, parsnips patiently await the first frosts. Richard decides whether he should make wine this year, after having racked more than 70 bottles last year; it’s been a good season for the vines, with all this hot dryness, but it’s also a lot of fuss. <\/p>\n
After the 2025 mast year, the nuts are disappointing. We had very few cobnuts from our little forest out back. In local woods, the sweet chestnuts start to drop their ferociously spiky acid-green casings, but their contents are desiccated after months of little rain. Almost ceremoniously, we see that yet again, a squirrel has stolen the sole walnut on our young tree.<\/p>\n
Another term has started, the quiet Bloomsbury campus transformed into a crowdscape of youthful enthusiasm. You dust off and update your lecture slides and struggle through masses of people on the hour to reach your next lecture. You have to queue ages for coffee in the student union. (Soon, many will start skipping classes, and the chaos will subside.)<\/p>\n
And of course, the ultimate fiducial marker of the passing time: my son recently turned thirteen, and the top of his head now comes up to my nose. If the pace of time’s passing does not slow down, soon we will be moving all his things to university accommodation, and the whole blur of hands-on parenthood will be a memory.<\/p>\n
All is happening as it always does, but each year, everything seems to stream by more quickly. The future is no longer an infinite vista, but a rapidly narrowing cone that only ever ends in a single point of blackness. I try not to dwell on this, but instead hold on to what matters and makes me happy: the beauty of the world, the comfort of family and friends, the enriching effects of music, literature and art, the meaningfulness of my scientific work, the education and mentoring of the next generation. <\/p>\n
My life has already been so long and rich that anything else is a bonus.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
This is the time of year when I am most closely reminded of the cycles of time and their steady acceleration. I am steeped in all the evidence. It is a beautiful autumnal morning, vivid green foliage almost vibrating against … Continue reading