I love these early autumn days when the sun shines upon the hedgerows illuminating a plethora of treasures ready to be collected by wild animals who depend on nature's store; red haw berries, rosy hips softening, hazelnuts hardening and a palette of blackberries in all the varying stages of their life from flower to decay. There's still some warmth emanating up from the Earth, but it's time to pull out your favourite jumpers. There's a feeling of coziness growing, do you feel it? Do you have somethings you always do at this time of year?
Yesterday, I took a walk to the allotment with my youngest daughter, Mariella. Being the youngest, she's the last of my flock who is still easily convinced to spend these precious moments with me. The older ones don't want to come, they make their excuses, and I don't push them. It's that season; They are making room to spread their wings, and I am preparing to watch them fly away. My youngest, however, is still under my wing!
The allotment patch looks pretty despite all the wind and rain. It's filled with the resilience of mellow orange and yellow nasturtiums. There are elderly sunflowers, heads bobbing closer to their graves, it's almost time to put them out of their misery, but not quite. I can still see their yellowed seeds glinting in the sun. The calendulas too have gone to seed. The seed bunches make fists primed to fight on. They will not quit this Earth without leaving a legacy. They will return (and so on and so forth).
In the cabbage patch, green and verdant, fingers of leaves decorated with droplets of rain reach towards the sun. Fortitude at its' finest! I love the balance of decay and rebirth in these little patches of earth. I pull a few thick bristles from the fairy garden Mariella planted with my mum and watch her talk to snails. She makes them a castle and finds them some snacks.
"Will they be here when we come back mum?" She asks.
"I doubt it," I reply. "You'll just have to enjoy this moment with them and let them live their lives."
We pluck two radishes for the guinea pig before we leave, locking the little rusty padlock on the gate to our magical kingdom. I wonder if next year, she'll be 'too old' to join her mum at the allotment and talk to snails and fairies. These few precious moments were like fertiliser to me. I smile to myself, there will be a few roses bloom from this quiet hour. And although I am preparing for the day she flutters away, it hasn't happened yet. I walk home fully immersed in her; in just the right balance of sunshine and gratitude.