September, 2021
Thursday 2nd
Autumn shows her hand in the reddening of rose hips and the ripening of blackberries. The hedgerow sheds flirtatious pinks, cow vetch, thistle, and foxglove, jettisoned with the coppering of bracken. Here now are harvest hues—red berries of hawthorn and wild honeysuckle, the mallow blue of sloe and the inky black of elderberry.
Gone are the salad days of summer: warmth lingers still in September’s sun, and bees sate their thirst on sowthistle and the white trumpets of bindweed, but the breeze is fresher—playful but less gentle, the cool breath of a season on the cusp, baring teeth in warning of the biting winds to come.
Sunday 26th
Mild moist mornings, silver light, softened through mist; crystal droplets of dew hang from stalks of grass, like glass beads, and bejewel the silken threads of spiders’ webs.
A slow tide of deciduous decay ripples through the hedgerow, yellowing the green. Leaves wither and curl, succumb to muscular gusts, take flight in brief flurries, then fall to carpet the verges in muddy mats of sparrow brown and dusty copper.
Bunched berries of honeysuckle and hawthorn are vibrant cascades of scarlet and crimson; the last blackberries cling to brambles; sky blue sloes are bountiful on blackthorn; ivy blooms with evergreen abandon; and the hedge is aflame with rose hips—fireglow red—mirroring the plump breasts of robins.
Thanks, George . . . Fortunate aren’t we, having stuff like that on our doorsteps. A lovely read.
Thank you, David. Yes we are very fortunate indeed.
A change of style, George, which is always worth doing to refresh yourself. At times, the intensity of the focus upon the leaves and flowers of the hedgerows was reminiscent of ‘The Wind in the Willows’.
That’s a mighty compliment, Martin. Thank you.
Well that was a treat. So many familiar faces from the New Forest when I was growing up. I’ve not heard that called witches butter, excellent name.
Thank you, Geoff. Delighted you enjoyed it. Witches’ butter is indeed an excellent name.
Brilliant – you are like a Lakeland Richard Jefferies.
Thank you so much, John.
Very nicely done, and informative as always.
Thank you, that’s very kind.
Really good article(s) ! Don’t think I ever heard of Lesser Celandine before. They are among my favorites of your photos. The forget-me-nots too. And the kid.
Thank you, Neil. The kid was adorable. Lesser celandine flower early which makes them a welcome sight. They are supposed to be natural barometers, unfurling their petals in good weather and closing up against the wind and rain. They’re all gone now. Replaced by buttercups or crowfoot, which they superficially resemble l.
I was looking for inspirational poetry in my books yesterday, but found it here in words and wonderful pictures.
Hanna
That’s a lovely thing to say. Thank you do much.
George, thank you for sharing such an enjoyable diary and processional, elegant writing and wonderful photos. The obvious sincerity of this paean to your corner of the earth is heartwarming, and even the intrusion of news from the Ukraine fits in, honest reporting, like becoming aware of ominous buzzing from a disturbed hornet nest. The colors may change and fade, but I will remain green with envy that this wealth of nature is available for your lunchtime strolls.
Thank you, Robert. That’s a wonderful compliment. I love the hornet nest image.
P.S. I’d wanted to comment on your Loweswater article, that the tale of supernatural death has prompted me to add to my List of Dangerous Things to Avoid, Even if Properly Sanitized After Usage Near Wrong End of Horse: “Crupper/Horsey Bits of Demonic Leathergoods Leaping Out At You in Stairwells/Entanglements & Possible Stranglings,” actually a brand-new category.
Yes, very wise. Perhaps they should come with a government health warning.
—and someone asked me the other day: ‘have you any holiday plans this year’?
Christina (Cockermouth)
Yes, indeed! We are very lucky living where we do. Cockermouth is beautiful.