Auter. . . Wintumn. . . Wall. . . . Finter. . . . .

It seems to me that we have skipped a superficial stage of this season. Hmm, I wonder what it could be. . . autumn. . . hmm. . . .

WHY ON EARTH DOES IT NOT LOOK LIKE AUTUMN?

The grass is growing. Why? Because it's time for it to die. The ground is sprinkled in leaves, yet everything on the trees are green. SPRING GREEN. Some of the trees are bare, some of them are lush. I know that in our climate, there's a give-and-take two weeks of pretty trees before it rains and they're all plastered onto your car, but seriously. . . I'm still waiting. Perhaps the week-long rain plastered them early? So now what?

Also the clothes issue. I do not have any autumn clothes. My room is filled with a cacophony of clothes strewn across every surface. . . a desk. . . a bed. . . a cat. The only plus side is that my father refuses to shut my windows. Instead of going downstairs and outside and then inside and upstairs, I just walk into my room, freeze, melt, and get dressed. So simple. . . if I had the right clothes. Sigh. Shopping soon.

Excuse me. My mother has just informed me that grass is a spring AND autumn crop. Whatever. It's still weird. . . although I guess it dies in summer too. . . .

The clock tower had its own symphony last night. . . ten o'clock. . . how lovely.