The swallows have gone leaving only a few house martins behind urging their young to leave their mud clad homes and head south to warmer climes . Our hedgerows are full of scarlet hips ,old man's beard and blackberries . Earnest couples with walking sticks and empty ice-cream containers attack the brambles trying to pick those oh so succulent berries that are tantalisingly just out of reach. Our corn brown fields have turned terracotta waiting to be sown with winter wheat .Across the front of our house the virginia creeper is going through its autumnal metamorphosis .Yet Autumn is not properly underway - the trees are still green ,leaves barely tinged , hanging baskets still blooming but the signs are there , early morning cobwebs hanging like crystal bejewelled sculptures from silken threads -beautiful dew covered works of art ,each one individually different ,each one so delicate and transient - how I marvel .
The evenings are drawing in and soon there will be the smell of woodsmoke in the air and our valley will explode in a riot of seasonal colour .I shall enjoy it I know I will .