Rambling on . . . about the last of the summer wine

Seven o’clock. Still dark. Through the half open window the first bird wakens and starts singing. A Robin, trilling up and down the scales. The heating clicks on as a heavy fog veils the valley. Drip,drip,drip.

So this is autumn, the not so pleasant side of autumn. Damp days, grey skies and constant drizzle. Drip, drip, drip.

The sun broke through for a little while yesterday and a few gardening jobs were completed. Tomatoes gathered to be ripened indoors

 

Apples harvested for winter storage

The last few courgettes, hanging on grimly, and a handful of surviving caterpillars on the kale, squished, in my gloved hand.

The day before I walked in the rain already tired of being indoors. Around the village there were a few colourful sights to cheer.

A Rowan tree full of berry

Crab apples festooning a front garden tree

Pyracantha berries mirroring the red of the telephone box

A vivid, eyecatching Acer, enough to bring a smile on the wettest of days.

The trees down the lane are still hanging on to their leaves which are slow to change colour, reluctant to give up their summer glory.

Soon we will hunker down and accept the shorter days and longer nights.  Soups and heartwarming stews will be made, more time spent in the kitchen and beside the fire.  Last winters’ projects will be hunted out and resumed, picking up from where they were left when spring arrived.

Hats, coats and gloves are at the ready – come on winter, do your worst – let’s get this over with.