Photos from a week spent out of town, savouring the season. Autumn’s by far the most characterful time of year, by my reckoning (at least in this corner of the world): all bluster and colour and change. Got a certain natural magic to it, which nothing embodies more powerfully for me than the movement of birds. Yes, I’m the odd guy who, at this time of year, might suddenly stop in the middle of doing or saying something and stare up at the sky, just because he’s heard a skein of geese honking their way overhead; or who pulls over the car in mid-journey to stare fixedly at some long hedgeline because he’s seen a flock of Scandinavian thrushes enjoying a bit of British hospitality.
Plus, of course, there’s the colours. No other season gets close to matching Autumn’s palette.
(I am glossing over the near-relentless rain of the last week or so. It was, to put it mildly, a damp experience. But hey, that’s part of Autumn’s personality too).
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