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The dark is chasing my heels as I walk through the woods now. Shorter days mean brisk bursts of looking and listening out for the wildlife moving through the trees. Although I know that winter is on the door step, I’m not fully ready to let go of autumn. Where I live, the leaves are still blazing with orange, gold and umber. And this is where I take my lead. Join me as I wander through the woods, in a walk for the senses.

The comforting percussion of a rain shower.

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….and the stream carrying it away.

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Beech leaves six inches thick under foot.

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The peaceful melodies of coal tits, gold crests and treecreepers.

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Brushes of tightly packed fir fronds tangle my hair as I zig-zag through.

There’s a galloping rush of a roe deer, fleeing to safety in the camouflage of the red oak saplings.

Overhead, crows and red kites circle and swoop for food.

Every few seconds another beech leaf drops. They look like they’ve been carved out of wood. The top feels like fine waxed paper, with soft ridges, covered in oilcloth. The underneath feels like brown parcel paper, with veins more prominent under fingers. It looks delicate but feels strong.

The finest layer mist on my face, like walking through a tickling trail of cobwebs.

The smell of moss and leaf mould, damp earth and mud.

A metallic tang on my tongue, watery and slightly sour.

Shades and layers of bronze, brick, ochre, and fawn.

That night, a misty autumn moon seemed suspended in the night sky. Like a mother of pearl button being pushed through the fastening of a black wool coat.


What are the seasons like at the moment where you live?


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Until next time,

Jo.

(Music, Gabriel Witcher)

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