Leaves, leaves and more leaves.
Red, gold, russet brown, everywhere I look there are rivers, banks and tides of rustling, whispering leaves.
The trees are shedding their summer finery and coating the lawns, paths and drive with a carpet of many colours which glistens in the Autumnal sunlight.
It seems a shame to clear them up, however, clean them up I must so the Leaf Blower has been working overtime. It’s a great contraption that can also be utilised as a leaf ‘sucker-upper’ collecting the leaves in a bag.
Sometimes it’s a battle between the blower, intent on shepherding the leaves to a corner; and the wild whipping winds determined to undo the hard work and scatter the leaves as widely as possible.
Once the tide of leaves has been blown clear of the lawns and drives, it can be collected and burned. There’s something about a winter bonfire that takes us back to childhood. The curling smoke and smoulder, the crackle from trimmed branches, the rich odour of burning leaves, and of course, when the wind changes, the stinging smoke in our eyes, happy times.
The image above is of our garden taken by Rupert Potter in September 1911.