NOV 15 BLOG #12
The tree in our garden that was afire with colour is now glowing darkly like the embers in a dying hearth. It is still clinging to its beautiful leaves that are currently of russet and faded copper hues.
A Turner-esque sky greeted me this morning, bathing the countryside in that pinkish, pale gold light that could only be a winter morning.
The greens of the grass, holly, pine trees, rhododendrons are a superb backdrop to the show that the deciduous trees and bushes have been putting on.
The wind is persuading the last leaves off the trees, fluttering down on passers-by like confetti being scattered at a wedding.
The countryside looks so different clothed in drabber, more sombre colours, and with tree silhouettes and the glimpses of properties you couldn’t see before. It really feels as if it is going into hibernation in order to renew itself and burst back to life come Spring. You feel it starting to fall into slumber.
Now is the time of luscious-looking (but probably poisonous to humans) shiny berries, cherry-tomato-size rose hips, all for the winter birds. Orange reds, crimson, garnet colours, yellow, and even pure white, they vie for attention.
The great little local train service isn’t so great right now. Twice last week trains were either cancelled or delayed “due to slippery rails” or “due to leaves on the line”. I am not kidding! Hello! England. Autumn, Rain. I cannot believe that they aren’t ready for the weather conditions?!
Oh Joy! A milkman from a local dairy now delivers organic milk in reusable glass bottles! I thought the English tradition of milk delivery to your front door each morning had died out years ago, but apparently it’s alive and thriving. The milk bottles are there by 5am (!), along with free-range eggs, butter, yogurt and bread, should you need it. (Less trips to the supermarket).
Tomorrow is Sunday. One of my favourite, remembered traditions: Walk down to buy the Sunday paper (there’s a choice of 5 or 6) and bring it home to pore over, whilst drinking cups of tea!
I’ll have to go and visit the shaggy ponies. I met their owner, a weatherbeaten, incomprehensible, who knows how old man, lugging bales of hay to throw into their field. He grinned at me with missing teeth and mumbled a few sentences, most of which I could not make out, except that I think 2 of the ponies are in foal. Due in April. I admired his new wooden fence (major improvement over the previous barbed wire) and made my escape.
