Fruitful mellowness......

rosedelarras
Nov 15, 2022
3 min read

Updated: Nov 17, 2022

The year is turning the corner and, maybe because I'm an October baby, it's my favourite time. I feel a sort of thrill at the thought of battling another winter and I love the meditative quiet of the grey, misty autumn days with the trees glowing out of the gloom. With their coverings slipping off one shoulder and their colours turning bright and brassy, they remind me of older ladies of the night - their charms just starting to wane......

The meadow has been mowed for the year and the grasses and flowers raked off to the side and burnt or left in humpy piles for the wild things. to move in. The six acres resort to a muted mix of green sward and stubble and the hedges, full of the gleaming gold and ruby trees, are now the stars of the show. The hare clan suddenly emerge onto the empty stage. When the flowers are up we can't see them. Now they lounge around in the sun on warm days - hares seem to appreciate a bit of Indian summer just as much as we do. On one September day I saw the nine of them lying in a ring on the far side of the meadow, soaking up the sun. They barely moved or changed position all day. Occasionally they would stretch out full length and jiggle a leg, or sit up and groom their faces but they always succombed to the soporific warmth again. Like us under the sun or before the fire. They seem at their least wild when they are indulging in this behaviour. The rest of the time they are the epitome of the wild to me.

We love the field in its autumn mood. The loud riot of the flowers is over as if a symphony has crashed to a halt and now it feels like a quiet piece of chamber music is playing andante. As true winter approaches the music shifts to plainchant. We walk in the ghost of the summer paths, still lying faintly on the mowed grass, and without the noise and fuss of the summer insects and birds drawing us out of ourselves, we go inward and the meadow becomes a place to reflect and think deeply and mull over whatever's got hold of the mind - solvitur ambulando. The only sounds now are the occasional cry of the buzzards and kites as they survey the ground - a clear space for carrion now. They fly much lower in autumn and we can see the underside of their pewter wings and the notches in their tails so much clearer than in the summer. I like to stand in the middle of the field after darkness has fallen, completely concealed and invisible - unembodied and enspirited - and watch the moon rise over the cottages, the two of us listening to whatever wild thing is speaking into the night. Usually it's the deer or a fox who clear their throats and bark, setting echoes colliding around the wood, and the owls tune up and call across the meadow. We can usually hear one calling from the wood and another answering from one of our gardens. So they are there, unseen, in the branches above me as I walk in from field to fire. I like the thought of all these hidden presences leading their lives around us unseen in hedge and canopy. It's comforting somehow as the darker nights settle in. They approach winter with courage and acceptance and so can we.

Season of mists - and bonfire smoke........