As day length shortens and winter’s arrival is almost upon us, I sit wedged between a cacophony of colourful hues. Oranges and yellows and pinks, all taking to their stage for one season only.
Some sway lightly on tender hooking’s of the branches of half nude trees, while others gracefully float to the ground like parachuting fairies on delicate wings. While some thrust themselves forcibly out and up and down, dipping and diving, twirling like some untethered kite, until they reach the ground, where they glitter among the base of trees or the undergrowth of a hedgerow, peeping out like some rare unusual animal in hiding.
The more extroverted dance about the skyline of the lawn until their display is done and they bow toward their audience, shriveling up, waiting to be munched on by a passing hungry slug or caught between the sleeves of my bin liner, where next year they will be reincarnated as leaf mould. Mixed with compost to feed my many plants.
After all, autumn is but a stepping stone toward spring and re-birth.