Pale morning sunlight casts long shadows and the gateposts steam in the horizontal rays. The grass fluoresces greedily gathering what energy it can, drawing in moisture from the wet fields which creek and seep.
The oak trees on the hill, always last to shed their leaves, are just beginning to turn russet while the scatty larch trees are aflame and the phlegmatic hazel has already loosed its leaves to drift aimlessly and lie on paths with the last of the rowan berries.
Autumn is the beginning of our year, the sheep-farming year. Our ewes are in the peak of their condition, replenished by summer grass of which, this year, there is plenty left to flush them as they go to the tup. They are impatient, occasionally butting each other as the younger ones readjust the pecking order in anticipation of something… The neighbour’s ram will arrive tomorrow.
- Autumn 2013 (khfenner.wordpress.com)