by Bonnie Pockley

Autumn, to me,  has always felt like the embers of a dying fire. Metaphorically speaking, the flames have burnt low but there’s one last display of brilliance, one last mesmerizing turn of colour before absolute cold creeps in, the night grows long and we leave for sleep – still warm from the afterglow. 

As we prepare for the cold, we spend as much time as we can outside in the garden – planting our winter vegetables, raking up the leaves and delighting in the last little kiss of  the summer sun.

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