The air is slipping into an autumn mood. Trees are turning; the light takes on that extraordinary glow that I love so much at this time of year.

This is a quiet blog; there’s not much to say, as it’s been a busy, busy week and a quiet weekend away. We were staying with friends just below the Oxfordshire Ridgeway. On Saturday, and Sunday, we had the most beautiful morning walks. The air was still and the views extraordinary. 

The landscape has a particular way with curves that would have appealed to Paul Nash, still more to his brother John. 

I loved this corner of the lane with its two curves, one moving up to the right, the other, down to the left. A fork in the road. 

We walked through a beautiful valley, filled with fine parkland trees – although apparently the house was lost…

A telegraph pole, like a Ravilious watercolour. 

It was a weekend of endless chat, reading the papers, sleeping, books, breakfast, lunch, supper, generous drinks trays – and of taking care. How hard to arrive and to leave without a hug and a handshake….and that feeing perhaps, just perhaps, of the last weekend away for a little while. And on Sunday afternoon we drove back down to Dorset with the dogs exhausted out of their minds.

Charlie’s dahlias are just about at their peak.

Flowers and the colour of the sunset merge.

The vegetable garden isn’t really a veg patch any more.  It’s a dahlia cutting garden…

Filled with extraordinary colours and combinations…

The meadow is cut. 

The garden is still overflowing…

This morning, we woke early and walked under leaden skies, but with the promise of sunshine. 

I love this turning point of the year; when colours, smells, and the whole landscape settles into their winter sleep. But it’s a strange moment too; my mind wants a sense of certainty when there is none; of perspective when it is hard to fathom where the weeks will take us.

I’m back in London tonight; time to focus on the small things, and to keep as busy as you are able.



I’m SO envious of Charlie’s dahlias, they are magnificent.

Malcolm Pym

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