I am walking across the field toward the lane, the morning lit with the kiss of bright autumnal sunshine. Blue skies above and the busy chatter of birdsong to accompany me and my heart sings. Leaves tumble before me as they are whipped into a frenzy by the wind, twisting and twirling they weave their acrobatic dance and I am caught in their swirling vortex.  I pull my coat tightly around me and hang on to my scarf as I push my way into the shelter of the woods beyond.
    The trees continue their whispering above me as they bend and sway. Leaves cascade to the ground like confetti and crackle beneath my feet. I stop to admire the richness of the autumnal palette and the warmth in the hues of golden browns and orange, dotted with the ruby jewels of crab apples. My mind and body bathe in the delicious, sumptuous comfort of this autumnal offering, like slipping into a warm vat of honeyed treacle.

Crab apples and hawthorne
    My path continues on through the woods and I notice the field once full of corn, now lies flattened from the harvest. Just the odd tower of corn left, here and there for the animals to feed upon. Deep furrows filled with dewy mud and all is still and resting and I am reminded this is as it should be.
    Autumn, a time of harvesting and gathering for us all, in preparation for the coming Winter.  A time of rest and reflection.  A time to congratulate ourselves on all that we have achieved and let go of all that we have not. The end of October, a time when the veil between the worlds is at its thinnest and we are reminded of the fragility of life. I inhale deeply and fill my lungs with the musky scent of rotting vegetation, death and decay and yet through this process new life will burst forth in the Spring and so the wheel turns.
    I carry on through the woods and out into the lane, my every step watched by the beady eyes of the wizened black berries from the once luscious fruit of the bramble.
    I cut across the bridle path and am soon joined by the horses in the field as they come to greet me. Their long slender necks reach over the fence toward my coat pocket, nudging me eagerly.  I reach into my pocket and withdraw an apple for each of them, they nod in thanks as they lean across and take them gently.
    From out of nowhere strikes a fearsome wind lifting the horse’s manes into a billowing spectre of blackness. They snort and neigh and rise defiantly upon their back legs, turn and gallop off across the field, kicking and rising as they go.

I hurry back toward my cottage taking a short cut through the paddock, over the fence and into my back garden hardly able to battle the strength of the wind and then, just as suddenly as it had started, it stops and all is so eerily still. I hear the call of a crow nearby and look up to see it perched upon a bare branch of the Oak tree and as I pass, he looks down toward me and whispers, “storm coming, storm”.
I gather my pumpkin sitting by the back door and carry it in to the kitchen closing the door behind me and I know the Crow is right, ‘storm coming, storm’.

Bessom for Autumn Leaves

















 Blessed Be


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All illustrations © 2014 sarahNet Ltd