Jaye Marie and Anita Dawes

Autumn, holding on to the last warmth of summer. Too soon, the leaves fall, the ground littered with the last of summer’s blooms, painting the paths red and gold. Brown leaves crunch underfoot, the sound of summer’s ouch, but reminding you she will be back.

I watch the shops change their clothing range, letting me know winter coming. Out on the farm, the woodpile needs tending to, the store cupboard needs filling. Jumpers might be knitted, often to live out their lives in a cupboard, to be thrown out come next spring, full of moth holes.

A mellow time of year, a time to slow down and reflect on the things you might be hoping for. Fingers crossed we all get what we need. No harm in putting the odd wish out in the cosmos as I often plant a written wish with my spring bulbs at this time of year. Try it, you’d be surprised at the results you can get.

I sit now waiting for the last stubborn leaf on the tree outside my window to fall. I know many people might think I should get a life. That I am a poor soul, waiting for a leaf to fall.

Anita Dawes