Through the gracious, Georgian town which was the focus of our attention. The brightly painted homes and businesses along its tree-lined streets added to its charm. Carpets of leaves lay thick on the ground.
One of my favourite things to do it kick through piles of autumn leaves. I don’t have much opportunity to do it at home. Living in a city, we do have trees, but the leaves don’t seem to accumulate as they did here. Perhaps they are swept up as soon as they fall. So I revelled in the joy of kicking leaves.
The brightness of them was a delight. Reds and yellows, oranges and purples. Autumn put on a display for us. I had not visited England in the autumn for forty five years and I soaked up the beauty of the season, making memories to tuck away for later days.
And we were blessed with sunshine. In the seventeen days we were there, it rained for two. Otherwise, the sun shone. Sometimes there was a cold wind, but we had gone prepared, and our warm jackets were more than sufficient to enable us not to care.
We walked through ancient streets, passed the soaring cathedral in the city. We strolled along river meadows where children and dogs played. Several of the dogs were not bothered by the fact that it was autumn and splashed and barked in the water, much to the consternation of the local ducks.
We wandered through country lanes, passing flocks of sheep and a herd of Aberdeen Angus cattle, complete with young calves, frolicking in the early evenings. We paused to stroke the noses of ‘our’ horses in ‘our’ field when they came cantering up to us in the hope of a treat. They wore jackets, these horses, against the frosts of the chilly nights. They were much loved and very beautiful.
I danced in showers of falling leaves. I don’t think anyone saw me. I danced for One and took great delight in the experience.
We watched swans and mallards; squirrels and pheasants. We visited a garden with autumn hues to take your breath away.
I know what autumn can be like in England. I remember trudging to school on soggy damp days. I remember walking through London streets, on misty cold mornings with only winter stretching ahead of us. I remember the sadness of the last leaves of summer drifting, drifting …
But this year. This autumn. This autumn can only be described as golden. Golden light, golden leaves, golden memories.
‘That’s God …’
That’s my God.