a few words from here

The distances have closed in – so many days of mist have brought a stillness to the valley. Around us the harvests are mostly in, and the fields now ploughed, and drifted with flocking birds. The piglets in Malcolm's field are no more.

Walking the dog: crimson spindle leaves, lipstick-pink and orange flower-berries; and the stop-get-ready-go berries of bryony. A single dog violet. The horses cluster at the gates. I rest my hand under their manes on the warm necks; the grey gelding puts his head close to mine, and we breathe the day together.

As I shimmy the car through the narrow approach to Staverton Bridge the misty October light is resting milky on the river, face now pocked with leaves after the sudden gusts of last night's winds. A single white egret is perched in an alder. The Canada geese have gone, though later a flock of maybe 30 veed over the hedge in front of me.

This weekend I'll gather the rest of our beans for winter freezing: borlotti, flageolet.

In the yoga house under the sudden gusts of wind last night there was a strew of fallen almond-shaped leaves on the skylight like a Japanese haiga, like a subtle question, fading as the daylight receded and dark took over.

In the softly-lit yurt, the newborn baby murmured in the woodburner's glow.