October thoughts . . . .

 "I'm so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers."
~L. M. Montgomery

Every season has its glory, and each month it's own identity . . . but I think October is the most glorious of the months of the year . . .

The air  . . .  it is as cool as an old silver teaspoon that's not long since come from your cup . . .  with the vestiges of the summer's warmth still clinging to it's edges . . . lingering teasingly . . . with a faint tang of blue woodsmoke in the air . . . and the promise of coming frosts . . .

 I had my first  herbal tea of the season yesterday . . . an herbs'n honey infusion . . .  it smelled all woodsy. It brushed my mouth with  whispers of spearmint, eucalyptus, fennel and wild oranges . . . laced through with the mildest touch of honey. It was good.

As I sat and sipped it's earthy warmth . . .  I heard the song of autumn days   . . . embroidered with the dazzling colour and light of the changing leaves . . .  infused with th glow of scarlet maples and garnet oaks . . .   thickets ablaze with pale gold and cinnamon . . .  the music of a trillion rustling trumpets in the autumn breezes.

I closed my eyes for a moment and let the waning autumn sun warm my face as I sat in the back garden which is really beginning to lose it's glory now . . .  for just a moment I was back in Kent, walking with Jess  and Todd through the orchards . . . golden cobnuts crunching beneath our feet, making them ache, but in a good way.  The upper pastures grey green and tranquil . . . the view of the south downs stretching out before us for seemingly miles and miles . . .

Orange and ruby branches flamed  against skies as soft as the breast of a dove . . . old grey stone ledges holding whatever warmth from the sun that they could . . . the light of the waning sun golden on  fallen burrs . . . that lay there longing for adventure . . . clinging to our socks in their bid to hitch a ride to places they have hitherto only dreamt of going . . .

Yesterday was such a golden day  . . . I found myself thinking there would not be many more days like this . . . not in this year at least.  The air was warm and filled with the musty odour of fallen leaves and blue woodsmoke.  

Autumn is my favourite season . . . and it matters not if I am down in the wilds of Kent  or here in the suburbs of Chester . . .  or wandering amidst the maples back home.   October is the jewel set in the hand of time . . .  



Baking in The English Kitchen today  . . . .  Brown Sugar Shortbread.   Simple, easy and oh so delicious! 

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May your Saturday be truly blessed.   We shall be watching THIS later on today.   Won't you join us?  Come listen to a prophet's voice.  You may be pleasantly surprised.