English weather is, essentially, many months of November. Actually, since November, it's been November. So about four months of November. Just last night there was one of the larger storms in the year, with winds ripping through Exeter and tearing things apart, blowing trash everywhere, and so on. Now it won't stop being windy, and November has broken.
November being over is a joyous occasion though. No longer are things dull and only partially green. The green's flaming up all over the place, the flowers are blooming, and even though things are wet most of the time, things are growing.
The sad version of England, I'd like to think, is falling away. For a spring season, I feel oddly autumnal. I'm preparing to leave, after all. It's not quite to the get-your-ducks-in-a-line stage, but I'm encountering people I haven't spoken to since last semester, and I'm reminded how much I need to hang out with them before I leave. Maybe I'm just too wistful for my own good.
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