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Crowditch

A close-up of an oak tree, some leaves green, some russet - and all the colours in between.
Crowditch

Autumn Leaves

by Lydia

There is something very satisfying about raking leaves. I always absentmindedly find myself humming Mary Chapin Carpenter’s “This Shirt”, and repeating lines from “A Song of Sherwood” by Alfred Noyes (even if most of the poem is out of season right now).

Oberon, Oberon, rake away the gold,
Rake away the red leaves, roll away the mould,
Rake away the gold leaves, roll away the red,
And wake Will Scarlett from his leafy forest bed.

The pears and plums were the first to fall (only a hardy few hanging on), followed by the apples (half down to date). The larger cherry is turning yellow from the inside out, and falling oh-so-slowly. Only two or three have fallen so far from Osa’s Oak, though the colours are stunning.

A close-up of an oak tree, some leaves green, some russet - and all the colours in between.

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A garden, with fog drawing in from beyond the fence. It's clearly a wet morning, and the trees in the garden are either bare or have leaves turning yellow.
Crowditch

A Misty, Moisty Day

by Lydia

I am sure that I picked up the phrase “misty, moisty mornings” from Susan Hill’s “Through the Kitchen Window” many, many moons ago. She was describing those autumn days with mushroom blooming everywhere. It seems fitting for today.

A garden, with fog drawing in from beyond the fence. It's clearly a wet morning, and the trees in the garden are either bare or have leaves turning yellow.
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A black dog points her nose upwards to knock a hand away from a computer mouse at the edge of a desk. The image catches her mid-act.
Crowditch

Persistent Scapa

by Lydia

I really enjoy homeworking. I can get so much more done, and (especially right now) it’s nice to be able to relax properly during my lunch break. But one of the tricky things to deal with is Scapa. Mostly, she curls up somewhere nearby after her walk, and is quite content and peaceful. But, if she wants strokes, she has a habit of knocking my right hand upwards until I stop using my mouse and pay her some attention.

A black dog points her nose upwards to knock a hand away from a computer mouse at the edge of a desk. The image catches her mid-act.
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Crowditch

Hedgehog in the Fog

by Lydia

The nights are drawing in, and the dark is lingering longer in the mornings. The trees are a riot of joyous colour, and there is definitely an increasing bite of autumn in the air. Contemplating the turning of the year, this old favourite sprung to mind the other day.

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A notebook featuring lots of entries written in fountain pen and shaded with red or green pencil. At the top of the page is a squiggle in fountain pen ink and shaded red. It had clearly been drawn by a child.
Crowditch

Little Additions

by Lydia

At the moment, I am keeping a form of tracking journal – I’m sure I’ll explain more over the coming weeks – and, if I leave it out on my desk and Auri sneaks into my room, I sometimes come back to find a little hand has used my fountain pen to carefully make a mark, and then coloured it in, just like I do.

A notebook featuring lots of entries written in fountain pen and shaded with red or green pencil. At the top of the page is a squiggle in fountain pen ink and shaded red. It had clearly been drawn by a child.
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