Winter woollens

"The leaves fall, the wind blows, and the farm country slowly changes from the summer cottons into its winter wools. " Henry Beston 1888-1968

I discovered some allotments the other day. 

Fine drizzle blurred the patchwork of frost damaged leaves, listing beanpoles, sagging netting and spent stalks. 

The season was gently unravelling.

Bright red chard, leeks and brassicas stood proud of the roughly tilled ground. 

Great cheer to the gardener.

"Autumn is the mellow season, and what we lose in flowers we more than gain in fruits." Samuel Butler

Oh to be a biennial!

I spent a large part of Saturday outside on my hands and knees. 

Weeds, trowel, barrow.

Wisened sunflower heads swayed overhead, meting out the pendulous tick of autumn. 

Badly behaved dahlias tapped me on the shoulder, stems snapped awkwardly and flower heads awry.

It was warm in the sunny kaleidoscope of the undergrowth. And as I tugged, there hidden beneath the weeds, 

I found a thousand tiny foxglove seedlings chuckling at the surrounding decay.