Instincts.

As each year comes along I seem to be becoming more and more sensitised to the falling earth energies in September. The world takes on the character of a balloon left hanging after the party and now shrinking to flaccid insignificance.

I think I wasn’t made for winter. If I’d been born a flower, it would have been as apple blossom, strutting its finery before growing into fruit and falling in September. If I’d been born an animal, I think I would have been a bear.

For that’s how September takes me, insinuating ever more strongly the instinctive need to find a sheltered cave in which to curl up and sleep ’til April. The prospect of an instinct destined to be denied sometimes feels a little oppressive.

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On a brighter note, I saw a Border Collie sitting outside the entrance to Sainsbury’s today. We watched one another as the distance narrowed, and when I said ‘Would you like some company for a while?’ the way she replied ‘Yes please’ with her eyes was quite irresistible. She got her company for a while, and it would be impossible to say which of us was the more appreciative.

And then there was the young woman I saw with her mother in the pet shop. She had a plain face with just a hint of acne, and yet her smile was uncommonly lovely. I considered telling her so, but even I have sufficient human instinct left to know where to draw the line with strangers.