![]() “We have to hope, Daniel was saying, that the people who love us and who know us a little bit will in the end have seen us truly. Inscribed on the first page was a note: Here’s one to savour. I had found a battered copy of Autumn in a charity book-shop. I cried when I finished, sat in my garden in that August heatwave that burned the tip of my nose, and wished that there were more seasons in the year. The turning of the season meant not only new colours and new light, but a new instalment of this series. I read each of Ali’s Smith’s seasonal quartet in the season they correspond with each season of a year punctuated by these books that I relished. ![]() Yet, I cannot deny the beauty in that muffled silence of a street blanketed in snow, or the twinkle of lights from a stranger’s windows. ![]() The crisp air of autumn clears my lungs, and I lament its passing as we head into the dark months of winter. ![]() So, I decide I must love summer the most, until the branches begin to bend with the weight of their fruit, and the trees are crowned with gold. I always think spring is my favourite season until its colour drenched blooms give way to the warmth of the summer sun kissing my skin. ![]() Setting our September reading, Nancy Dawkins is talking about Ali Smith's Seasonal Quartet and reading it in time with the weather changes. ![]()
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