Season of mist

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,

Spider webs are carefully spun;

Laden with conkers and acorns we bless

With fruit the vines that provide such fun;

To crunch the fall among the golden trees

And fill the heart with pleasure to the core;

To carry pumpkin, rich with earthy smell

becoming sweet soup; we all desire more,

And still more, later flowers for the bees

Until they think warm days will never cease

For Summer's songs will always tell

Lisa Wright (with a little quite a bit of help from a certain Mr John Keats)

This morning was beautifully autumnal. I admit no mist, but that special crispness in the air alight with sparkling colour and charm. It was wonderful to be out soaking it all in, feet sniffing through the leaves looking for conkers, wiping the sticky webs out of your face and dusting the very same web-makers from your hair. I felt most lyrical upon my return, so poor Mr Keats was subjected to a little 'tampering'. He's probably turning in his grave poor fellow.

I've realised that early Autumn really is a special time of year that is too soon forgotten. Today reminded me of how September hangs onto Summer's beauty - rich and ripe before October's damp and the icy claws of November reach out and drag away all the colour and warmth. I so love the crunch of dried leaves underfoot and watching them swirl down around me dancing in the muted light. If you're not familiar with the (unmessed with) version of Keats' Ode to Autumn, you should google it. A stunningly evocative piece of poetry.

I feel the need to paint acorns now and partake a little of the fruit of the vine... (though reading this, you'd be forgiven for thinking I'd already enjoyed a little Bacchus nectar!