I always take a long evening walk with my dogs. Around the village, through the woods and home again. It's quite a few miles of fresh air therapy, and the dogs love it.
I go along the hedgerows and down the winding lane, past the old church and circle back towards home. They are both back on their leads after a good bounding through the woods. With ***** paws and scent filled noses, they will sleep well tonight.
At this time, early evening, the sun is falling low and the sky is turning from the midday's cerulean blue to hues of violet and pink.
It is the first day of September and our long hot summer can still be felt in the afternoon sun but, by supper time, the air has become cool and still and I pull on my cardigan against the chill, something I haven't done during the evening since mid March.
As I pass the old church the sky has darkened around the edges, framing the mellowing sky in varying shades of indigo. Darkening hedgerows underline the display of early evening pipistrelles, diving and flitting like a zoetropes flashing movement before my eyes. I can feel the 'pip pip' of their almost inaudible sonar in my ears. They swoop and flit catching unfortunate moths midair.
The long grasses that run along the bottom of the hedgerows are teeming with all sorts of bugs and crawling creatures. Grass hoppers, stink bugs, spiders and probably a few little foraging field mice. I try not to think too ******* what might lay there in the undergrowth, it's all a bit creepy crawly for my liking, I walk quickly through the grasses and on towards the gate at the end of the lane.
I can smell the farmers freshly harvested earth in the east field and I can now see clearly the brown soil emerging, stretch by stretch each day. Soon the fields will be covered over in deep earthy blankets, coloured in acres of deep umber and hickory, ready to sleep again until spring.
The air around me holds the promise of autumn, the fragrant breeze whispers that fact gently among the trees, among falling leaves of golden brown and cinnamon I know it to be true.
Squirrels bound from branch to branch gathering summers bountiful consequence. It is a joy to watch as they eye me warily yet they do not stop filling their bellies with berries and walnuts as they peer at me with caution.
The heavy oak gate at the end of the lane opens to a grassy pathway and after a time, my front door. The lights are alive in the windows of our cottage. I delight in finding everyone finally home.
Soon the curtains will be drawn against the darkness and bitter autumn winds. For now I revel in the remedy of the season, the bearing of natures fruitful gifts, the winds of change lift my heart.
A faraway bonfires smoke becomes a backdrop to the cool crisp autumn air. Over the coming weeks carpets of nutmeg coloured leaves will fall, handfuls of acorns, walnuts and spinning sycamore propellers will be scattered under our feet as we walk with our dogs, sniffing and snuffling in the pungent autumnal lawn.
This season has my heart feeling the same love and contentment as of a mother greeting her grown child home after too long away.
The key fits the lock and the aroma of stew and dumplings greets me like an old friend and I am so very glad my now grown children love the comfort of home cooking as I do. I step inside, dogs loping along beside me, as I greet the coming splendour of Autumn with open arms.