This time of year; that season.

On Wednesday, I found myself driving out past the custard maple, to find her in full Birds made with full-fat milk glory.

Now the visitors have left, the forest has lit up with autumnal splendour. The beasts have grown new coats. Mud is back in fashion.

With Andras Schiff rattling out Book I in the old Decca recording as a background, I washed a few soapy bowls this morning entirely by touch, my eyes transfixed by a jay raiding for apple scraps in the garden.

I added an extra layer for my walk yesterday, to the scarf that's been back on duty for a month.

I adopted a pet rock from Devon last week. On the window sill, it suddenly looks like a shark.

Whining and dining

I have a pet mosquito,

who comes each night to feed.

I'll fetch a rolled up newspaper,

to teach him* how to read.

* yes, I know.

Fall Again

What is this new thing: rain?

Saturday's puddles, perfect planes of sharp refraction;

Baked mud trapped under airless crystal.

Now summer is stored:

The ponies' fat, the squirrelled seeds; berries shout 'come hither',

Insect larvae burrow and dive, ready for winter's sloth.

Autumn is getting on her glad-rags.

Gatekeeper 2021

 Yesterday was all meadow browns.

Resumation

Dry April; cold, wet May, have held back thoughts of summer. Nature compensates with the arrival of sunshine, of the twenties. New life is unveiled. Donkey foals, a small copper, a broad boddied chaser. Plant roots, still sitting in May's sump, throw out flowers, bursting in all colours. Second broods are replacing earlier failures. The air is full of cries.

I'd lounge on the lawn, but the noise of the grass growing is too loud. It's time for planting, for weeding; loam under the nails and scratched knuckles.

Abuzz

A coughing chainsaw;

The lesser spotted woodsman,

Quiets the chiming birds.

Tall Beech

Slanting spring sun on bare boughs,

Breaks buds,

Draws sap,

Wakes bugs.

Washes away winter's sleep.

Walking a week of easterlies

Alternate frost and sun have curved and pierced the undermined ice to translucent brandy-snap, on grass-blade tenterhooks, capping the criss-crossed natural hollows of the heath.

I creak and crackle this brittle confection with each uncadenced footstep, sometimes sinking through the shattered carapace to silty mud.

The hissing of the wind through cold-desiccated brush and the rough scrape of dry heather and thorned bramble on denim build symphonically on the boot duet of crashing and splashing, and separate songs of early birds proclaim their needy counterpoints.

Dipping and striding, jumping and balancing across the thicker ice, I rise towards Marlpit Oak to face the unsheltered onslaught of that easterly breeze.

White Noise

Heedless of a forecast that offered, if not permission, then at least excuse, frozen flakes hang embarrassed in the air, like celestial dandruff. They come in negligable numbers; not yet an invasion, but an expeditionary force, scouts and spies sent out to discover the potential warmth of any reception. The wind whips the flakes and specks in all trajectories from down to up, making the mean descent sideways, but without much resolve. Ridge-tiles, trees and telegraph wires are outlined by a uniform grey. Brighter than at mid-winter; not yet threatening worse to come. Unreadable, like a blank stare

Hither and thither

In the name of exercise, I've probably walked thirty miles this week, sliding, splashing and clattering though the woods, scattering the wildlife as I go.

It would be difficult, although I've had plenty of practise now, to identify the species of the retreating birds and mammals; all the identification guides have mugshots, not the more frequently observed tails. An audio guide to alarm calls would be a welcome addition.

Over a year, I have enjoyed the first lockdown serenity of closed car parks and untrafficked roads, the rare summer visitors who had battled, or possibly broken, travel restrictions to stop by and gawp, the sudden wetness of the autumn, after a parched summer.

I've dived out of the door at the sight of a yellow sun, to be dampened by the next cloud; emerged like a reluctant butterfly into full overcasts, to be shocked by a slanting ray.

But, brighter still, I've walked these miles too, to be surprised by the full unfeigned smile of a stranger, well met, out in the tranquillity and beauty.

Behind our masks, we have been practising these smiles; supplanting those polite, mouthed grimaces that used to suffice in places of commerce and the meeting of strangers. We've learned to project warmth with our eyes, and are better for it.

Overthinking it

A difficult life;

Awkward; I can't stop thinking.

<stop>. Pause for effect.