Frosty Harvest Moon

Oh my dears, what a glorious sight was the harvest moon last evening, glowing steady and bright as it rose high in the clearest of skies. A sight to behold indeed and one that issued in the first frost of the autumn season, something to delight in as one walked the few last miles to work; such a bracing and refreshing start to the day.  This evening a full moon shines bright once more, lighting our glorious countryside. Our resident owl sits nearby in our small orchard, its calls echoing across the fields,  rising and falling in intensity. Such beautiful ethereal creatures, gliding across the fields in search of a late meal or two. 

Autumn, with its coat of many colours....

Be still my beating heart, dear reader, 'tis here, the season of  "of mists and mellow fruitfulness" (Keats), "No spring nor summer hath such grace as I have seen in one autumnal face" (Donne). Why from the first day of September,  'tas gently been strolling forth, staining the sky minutes earlier each day, a cooler air as we rise and retire. The first windy day of autumn resounding to the thump of striped blush pink, yellow and rosy red apples crashing earthwards. How my nose did twitch to smell that heavenly aroma of autumn's fine presence. The leaves have begun their spectacular autumn show of many colours that shine so brightly and lift the heart. The holly hedge is laden with berries that have suddenly burst forth,  reddened to a most delightful hue that shouts out against the glossy green leaves. Even the resident squirrel has afforded us much hilarity. Why, only t'other morn he dashed across the sanctuary lawn,  catapulted himself upon the garden bench outside the large terrace windows, launching himself t'ward us only to find himself spreadeagled upon the glass. Dear reader, t'was truly  stuff of cartoon like merriment, oh how we did laugh. After righting himself and glaring most righteously, he was off again, bounding through the garden. What a delightful sight to raise the mood for the day, sheer and utter joy, my dears. 

Autumn, "liquid gold is in the air; whoever looks round sees eternity there" 
                                                                                                            John Clare

An Englishman's home is his castle

Home, such an evocative word. One that means many things to all manner of people, be it good or bad. The male guardian and I have lived upon our small estate for well over twenty good  years. 'Tis a home more than anything, not a possession to show off one's design flair, nor a symbol of one's wealth. Just simply, home. A small cottage, garden and orchard in which to relish the seasons, enjoy nature, nurturing each other and the lifestyle we hold so dear. Comfort reigns along with the ability to kick back and sniff the roses for this is life, not a rehearsal. I do so love our home, a place of sanctuary and comfort; no sharp design statements just wall to wall comfort. To love, laugh, mourn, relax and just be, for this is life; the up's, the down's, traversing the highway, growing older, somewhere to remember the good times and mourn the bad, hopefully wiser and learning to "stand and stare", "sniff the roses" and more. Somewhere to lay your head at the end of the day, to feel oneself relax as it hones into view, driving down a narrow green lane amongst glorious countryside and suddenly there it is, a small stone cottage that lifts the heart, solid and reassuring, our sanctuary, our home. Hard earned and oh, so appreciated for its solid simplicity. A door of our own to open to friends and loved ones, or to close against the storms and push the bolts home. How these walls have seen life over many years of lives lived within them. 

Where did that come from

Now, when my dear seamstress friend requested company on a foray into the world of clothes shopping I happily obliged. 'Tis most advantageous to take with one a trusted second who will direct one away from those things one has set one's heart on only to resemble something akin to that which one is trying to avoid. Thus, we set forth on a little trip bound for a nearby small city intent on visiting a particular retailer of repute. Well, dear souls, the choice, the colours, textures and fabrics, why t'were quite divine. A proverbial sweet shop. We are both ladies who adore colour and texture, not keen on the mutton dressed as lamb but not so in to one's dotage that fashion has become a byword for laxity with one's appearance. We are both of an autumn palette with some differences that separate our choices. What can one say bar there was much to draw the eye and several hours slipped by with my dear friend trying on all manner of garments and accessories. She has an unerring eye for that which goes together and her colour combinations are something to behold. I have to say dear souls, whilst spending so much time in said establishment t'would have been rude not to try the odd thing. Dear reader, somehow I came home the proud owner of a beautiful dress and quite the most gorgeous pair of shoes imaginable. 

My dear seamstress friend was fair tickled pink when the senior shop assistant asked if she could take a photograph of the dress I had worn for the occasion for 'twas made of fabric produced by said establishment. This particular establishment has a newsletter where they like to showcase customers makes using their fabrics. Such a feather in my friend's teaching cap for this was only possible due to her excellent teaching skills and patience with me. Normally, one would decline, however, the smile upon my friends face forbade me to decline on this occasion.

Much to one's delight, the male guardian was free from his professional toil today. We have spent the day pottering in our little home and garden, making steady progress on keeping all ship shape. 'Tas been a delightfully mixed day, and now, since supper has been enjoyed, we shall settle for a restful evening before it all begins again on the morrow.