The September Floor Has Changed Colour

I have just stood barefoot on an acorn.

There are experiences in life that instantly clarify your priorities. Childbirth. Realising you’ve left your phone on the roof of the car.

Standing on an acorn first thing in the morning while carrying a mug of tea.

Apparently autumn has entered the house.

Not proper autumn yet. We’re only halfway through September, but somebody needs to explain that to my hallway because the evidence is everywhere.

Leaves.

Tiny twigs.

Mud where no mud should logically be.

And one perfectly intact acorn which apparently travelled indoors specifically to assassinate my left foot.

The children have been back at school for a fortnight now, so we’ve reached that peculiar September stage where the shiny-new-school-year feeling has worn off and normal family chaos has resumed.

The new pencils are already missing.

A drinks bottle has disappeared into the educational abyss.

And I have found a jumper that nobody appears to own.

I don’t ask questions anymore.

What I have noticed is how quickly September changes the rhythm of the house.

During summer, indoors and outdoors sort of merge. Doors stay open. People wander in and out. Towels migrate around the garden.

Somebody is always barefoot. Naturism requires absolutely no thought because clothes are largely regarded as those things we put on when leaving the house makes them unavoidable.

Then September arrives and suddenly everything requires equipment.

Shoes.

Coats.

Bags.

Waterproofs.

School things.

Things that were definitely beside the door last night and have entered another dimension by morning.

But I’m refusing to declare outdoor life finished just because summer has started gathering its belongings.

Actually, September might be one of my favourite months for being outside.

Not because it’s spectacular yet. That’s the point.

You have to notice it.

One tree has started changing colour while the one beside it apparently hasn’t received the email. There are acorns underfoot. Spiders have begun constructing engineering projects across every path. Mushrooms appear overnight in places where yesterday there was definitely just grass.

And every walk with children eventually contains the sentence:

“MAM! COME AND LOOK AT THIS!”

Against every sensible instinct I possess, I always go and look.

It will either be genuinely fascinating or something dead.

There is apparently no middle ground.

Maybe that’s one of the things I love about living naturally through the seasons. You don’t just notice them through a window.

You feel when the air changes.

You notice that sunshine has become something worth stopping for.

You notice evenings beginning to pull themselves in a little earlier.

And you definitely notice an acorn when you’re not wearing shoes.

So I’m not retreating indoors yet.

We’ll keep wandering. We’ll collect things that absolutely did not need bringing home. We’ll get muddy. We’ll investigate suspicious objects under logs. We’ll probably have at least one argument about whether something can live in a bedroom.

And then we’ll come home, abandon whatever damp layers we’ve acquired, stick the kettle on and return to our usual unclothed household existence.

Tea somehow tastes better after you’ve been outside.

Although from today there is one new household rule.

Acorns stay outside.

My left foot has spoken.

What tiny thing tells you that the seasons have started changing in your home?