The Autumn Of Our Discontent.

The first tentative hint of Autumn can be felt whispering in the air.Early in the morning the sky has a slightly different hue; the birds squark and cry has changed in a subtle way, as if expectation can be heard in their exclamations.

Anticipation of a new season, with all its original, yet ancient colours and hidden wishes and hopes, so different from the previous sweltering one, can be felt in your skin.

The promise of crisp crunchy leaves under our boots;the scarves and gloves taken out from the drawer not used all summer, with the aura of winter pervading them;the brand new exercise books for school with their unique smell that bring back a thousand memories; the thought of cooler nights, with a light breeze on your face as you walk up the garden path, sensing the spirits of a secret world all around you.

The shorter days with the bonfire crackling in the garden on a late chilly afternoon.Its smoke filled with the smell of Autumn itself, as the debris of summer is sent back to the sky, back to the sun.

The thought of tea and toast with jam or honey sitting by a roaring  log fire, as the last rays of  the once fierce, but now gentle sun, dance in the corner of your room

So fresh, so new and yet as old as time itself.

This Autumn though , somehow something has changed. All over the land , there is less of an expectation or hope, and more of a feeling of foreboding and fear. A hesitancy to put ones foot forward into the unknown.

A strong sense that something is not just slightly wrong with the whole wide World, but that something is terribly wrong.

Shattered lives, splintered dreams, all because a few people decided that it should be this way.

As the summer makes its slow, graceful exit, the few are getting ready in Greece to tell us what they, in their awfully misguided 'wisdom' have in store for us for the next few years. It's not a few years, I'm afraid, but about ten, according to the experts.

The Autumn of our discontent is waiting in the wings, letting the sun still be centre stage, to allow those beach lovers to play on the sand, laugh as they splash each other in the sea, and murmer the oldest song of all, the song of love , as the magical hour of sunset calls them.

They know though that these snatched days of sunshine are coming to an end.They try not to face the fact, because they know that this Autumn things are going to be grim.

Please, a few more days of not caring, just a few more moments of throwing a flat pebble, bouncing on that sparkling water.

But it's coming to an end. Any day now the fate of the Greek people will be announced. Forget the pre- election promises. They will all be broken. Yes, every single one.What did you expect ?

The sun and the sea lovers reluctantly pick up their sand covered towels, the almost -empty suntan lotion
 ( for those who can afford it ), the racket, the ball, and put their flip-flops on,as they walk through the still hot sand. A bitter-sweet sadness singes the day as the sun falls low; they know not what the Autumn has in store, and they shiver as a sudden gust of wind comes from nowhere.

But wait ! There is a strange new expression in their eyes ; a defiance, a bravery, no longer that defeated, beaten look.It as if the long sun soaked days have given everyone time for reflection, and as if the sun itself has revitalized them, giving everyone a new strength.

A righteous anger, not a silly emotional one, like a well-stocked log fire is burning, and this fire is hot and won't be put out.No space-suited policemen with no matter how much teargas can put these flames out..

It burns so fiercely with the knowledge that the very ones who ramsacked, robbed your home and wrote obsenities all over your walls are the very same ones who are are now meant to be guarding it, and again they will cause absolute havoc in your home and your life.This you now know.

Wisdom, or just plain common sense tells you that you are being treated like cattle.A resolution stirs within you. A feeling of togetherness with all the oppressed; a unity with the sat -on masses; a spark lighting in the hearts of millions of people,

The Autumn of our discontent ?

Maybe not.

Maybe this Autumn will become our spring.

Maybe, just maybe, the Autumn for the 1% will become their Autumn of discontent.