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
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