In Sri Lanka, the year-round temperature is stuck at about 31. There are no seasons. No autumn. No spring. No season of rebirth after the winter. No change in day length. It is warm, luxuriant and there’s lot’s to love but it is so predictable. All that changes is the humidity, and the number of showers you need each day.
|Autumn in Sussex|
The delight of England’s changeability is that familiar scenes are seen anew. Summiting the chalk highlands at Wandlebury, there was a suggestion of dawn ahead – a subtle yellowing between streaks of black cloud and naked trees before a navy sky. On down through the last of Cambridgeshire and into Essex. The ex-marshes at Dartford have never looked as lovely as last Sunday morning. The industrialised hinterland of Tilbury Docks and Bluewater are concreted into submission and even the slight chalky undulations and hillocks are quarried to nasty open wounds.
That morning though the sun rose on a patchwork of fields painted in muted purples and grey-greens. Soft undulating mists highlighted hedgerows I’d never noticed before and disguised ugly buildings that would have been blots on the horizon. It was easy to see small patches of nature that shelter the Dartford warbler and other small cute wildlife.
Passages in Conrad's Heart of Darkness (first published way back in 1902) catch the mysterious but ever-changing atmosphere of the Thames Estuary: "the mist on the Essex marshes was like a gauzy and radiant fabric, hung from the wooded rises... and draping the low shores in diaphanous folds."
and at the end of the book...
[The Thames] "was barred by a black bank of clouds, and the tranquil waterway leading to the uttermost ends of the earth flowed sombre under an overcast sky - seemed to lead into the heart of an immense darkness."
We drove on, over the Thames all busy and twinkling with tiny lights and finally to Gatwick and a long-promised trip to the Polar North.
|Oslo Airport - waiting to go north|
|Looking out at the snow falling in Oslo|