Buds pushing up and the dew of night still hanging from them as each morning they show some more of their beauty. The grass now growing again after it's winter sleep. Mornings brighter and bird song at 4am. Wet shoes as we walk through the field as the night still clings to each blade of grass. The moss now dying on the pourous headstones and staining the rock beneath.

Warm sun and a lush canopy of every green, eyes squinting through sunrise, the smell of fresh cut lawns and the smell of barbeque coals soaked in juices drifting from the gardens nearby. Late evenings and children playing till the street lights glow. The sound of foxes barking as I try to sleep. Out gathering and walking the paths I walked.

Dried leaves crushed underfoot, announcing the change of season as the nights come sooner and the sun loses it's heat. They are the days I will remember most of our autumn. As a temporary death comes to the place of death. The umbrella of multicoloured beauty falls in the breeze and blown to dance like spirits. The last flowers dried and decaying, Rain becomes colder the foxes no longer bark.

The leaves now gone, trees naked and cold. Redundant nests tossed in the wind and decay all around above and beneath the ground. Only the sparce laurels and holly show any green. The grass covered in a thin layer of white muddied by feet passing through. Not as idyllic as a Christmas card or calender. But this is my place. Where my best friend sleeps. The daily walk with my dog. My solace. Often my only peace, my only escape. Now, I share it with you.