And misty soft sunsets too…
The distant mountains lie in a dove grey mist so typical of late autumn. The trees, decked more sparsely now in their brown and yellow autumn finery stand motionless in the cold damp air. The herb borders are filled with leaves bejewelled in diamond dewdrops and there are patches of gold and orange where late flowering marigolds betoken the light of the summer sun now lost to us for another season.
All is utterly motionless… there is a total silence… that deep uncanny stillness void of sound which typifies late October and early November as the natural world withdraws into itself and the Earth settles for its annual Winter rest.
Out of nowhere, our little flock of sparrows raucously descends on the wet grass, rowdily chastising and gossiping with each other as they hastily gather the crumbs and seeds my husband has spread out for them. Robin appears and fixes me with his bright dark eyes as he serenades me with his melodious little song before he, too, descends to join in the birdy bunfight. Bluetits chirrup in the branches of the holly above my head, while a flash of black and white proclaims the arrival of our resident magpies. Iridescent starlings gather along the conveniently strung electricity cables adjacent to the quiet road, intelligently eyeing the chaos below, while pale-eyed jackdaws perch on the branches of the fir tree stoically assessing the competition.
As suddenly as they came, my feathered friends all precipitately take to the air in a whir and flap of frantic wings as my large white and black cat appears around the corner of the house, startled of expression and apologetic of demeanour, as if to enquire what all the panic is about. Once a mighty hunter he has mellowed with age and now seems content to sit and merely observe his one-time quarry.
My morning cup of tea is cooling and I lift it from the little white metal table which stands beside my wooden bench and drain it to the dregs.
Time to go in.
The heavy front door closes softly behind me as I walk down the hall and through into the back of the house. As I step into the living room, comforting warmth wraps around me like a woollen shawl and the smell of cooking assails my nostrils. The big pan of cawl (Welsh vegetable broth) which I had earlier chopped and set to cook is now bubbling fragrantly on the Aga.
Plumped cushions on sagging chairs, shelves of books and pots, the soft glow of orange, gold and scarlet fairy lights twinkling on the autumn branch on the deep windowsill…
Ah…. home!
