Autumnus is Latin for “harvest” – and September is a horn of plenty for the artist as well.

When the first morning mists meander through the Ribble Valley, around tall, sentinel trees and church spires, then we’ve said our fare-wells to summer and dwell in a seasonal window of passing, where old is but a legacy, and young a golden sun.

Forests have opened their doors to imagination. Spiders build crystal palaces catching dew, and, at times, the idea of fairies seems plausible to an imagination fuelled by the spiced air, rich in dark, wet earth, saturated moss and the first falling foliage whispering among trees.