When golden strands are threaded through every hue of green or red and the drystone walls appear like scraped old leather at sunset, autumn has arrived. The Ribble Valley fields have a velvet richness, the trees and hedgerows become a tapestry’s seams.

Imagination tells us we’re walking through a landscape conjured by an otherworldly tailor, leaving frazzled string, cotton thread and gold stitch in brocade

With lichen growing like winter-fur on drystone walls, man-made wall and landscape erode into one breathing, living fabric, designed to harbour the warmth and to dress for the colder days ahead