We float here in these golden days between the seasons, like gossamer drifting across the garden. Summer is fading and drifting gently into autumn. Flowers blanch and burn; seed heads form, altering the architecture of the borders between lane and field; leaves change their pigment- from greens that have dulled over August, to golds and oranges and pinks, a mellow patchwork stitched from flame and fire. Some mornings, we wake to find mist floating milk white, between us and the other side of the valley – as if we are alone, cut off from the clashing noises and colours of the world. There are berries everywhere – bright crimsons and purples singing from the hedges, calling us and the birds. There are apples – acid green, russet, shockingly yellow, dull red – to be held and examined. We store up treasures before the winter – sloes turning gin into liquid ruby; jams and jellies, jewels piled into jars; golden heaps of apples. We wait for the world to turn beneath us, carrying us into winter.
By mist, drifts through autumn leaves
Gold echoing gold.
Toni has opened up the bar at dVerse and has asked us to write about change. At the moment it feels like we are in the borderland between summer and autumn – so much change happening all around me. I love this time of year.