There’s a special melancholy pleasure about this time of yearUp through the mist-kissed hills, past the crow-strewn rubbish, the young reefer-smoking worker taking a last toke before the Tube, the anxious fug of weed. To the gate, 6.30am at the autumn allotment, the fading days of heat culled by heavy rain.I love this site. Looking up and seeing someone weeding. Leaving overgrown courgettes by the path. But there’s joy for me in solitude just past sunrise. It is there in the final call of the owls, the sneaky slink of the fox, the early buzz of late bees. Continue reading…
Source : theguardian.com
Read more…Comfort on the plot as the year slows down
