Only a day ago the field of stubble over the hill was a maze of maize. There's a ramblers' right of way that runs right through it, and it felt a little bit like hiking through a jungle. What a difference a day makes ... .
I pulled this apple just after I took its portrait, and munched it as I kicked my way through the fallen leaves that litter the path in the woods. There are few pleasures in life that can better a freshly picked apple enjoyed on the hoof as you scrunch through fallen leaves.
I'm sure my pagan ancestors made it their business to come out for this bewitching hour just before sunset. Maybe they claimed they were looking for faeries or dreamt up some other excuse to creep outside and celebrate the magical beauty of nature illuminated by the gentlest of light from the dying sun. I promise you a walk chasing the golden rays in the last hour of the day is a tonic for your soul - whether you believe in magic or in the little folk or not ... .
I'm always drawn to the woods. I love the dappled light, and the play of the seasons on the trees.
There are hills all around us, but on one particularly high hill that rises up at the bottom of our valley there are five mighty oak trees, growing in a semi circle on the summit. Between them they create a space that seems as majestic as any of the great Gothic Cathedrals. They've stood there for half of modern history and they'll be there long after I have ceased to walk these fields. They fill me with awe and reverence every time I look at them.
And the play of light on their gnarled trunks and sweeping branches is visual poetry.
There's something special about Five Oak Hill.
All the best for now,