As chestnuts fall onto first shed leaves, splitting their shells, a year’s worth of fruition is offered to the ones flitting by. Food for sustenance of body, and food for the soul in what was shaped, formed and moulded during light-filled months.
Ripened berries, scarlet dots of small trouvailles to be picked apart and so passed on to the young to help their growth, to digest and contribute and eventually, sustain. Fanned feathers flit past the last of the seed-heads on meadows starting to disintegrate to add to the soil from which they sprung.
Now the woods start telling stories again, no longer distracted by summer’s waltzing and prancing under a late sun’s glow, but there is a call to gather and exchange.
In this time of harvest, the evening skies turn lavender and leaves are daubed by rose and ochre. In this bouquet of revelations the owl rests, internalising treasure, drawing our eyes to the core of creation.