Slowly a dying hush like a blanket of mist falls across a sleepy earth. The descending darkness embraces the great mother and sleep calls her whispering on an autumn breeze. Trees bow down as she passes a last blaze of finery and coppery gold leaves slip gently floating to the ground a patchwork of a fading summer.
The best time of the year for me is autumn . A time to go inwards and reflect on the past year – roaring fires and darkness. Evenings lit by glowing candles and reading ghost stories. Walking in a silent woodland leaves crunching underfoot and the smell of the earth’s sleep. Spindly spiky boughs over head ghost-like against grey skies, always beautiful, somehow more evocative than summer.Read More