Autumn clatters its leaves around me.
As the stridency of growth draws back, I can see again. I found the exuberance of this magic summer overpowering. My bracken is now collapsing as dramatically as it grew.
I gave up on my garden a month ago, and am wondering if I'm really cut out for it. Maybe I'm a hunter gatherer, a trapper, a berry-picker. Maybe what I'm trying to make is a rich hunting ground, feeding rabbit and feral pheasant and snipe, bearing fruit and nuts.
Why not.
Next year, next year. We are in the Season of reflection and forethought. Abundance too.
I wish for a dry mouse proof storage space, a simple cluster of raised beds & covered grow pods, and a place to house a volunteer bracken-basher, tree planter, & gardener.
I wish for a thousand Sweet Chestnut, Wild Cherry, and Beech seedlings, and the help to ready the land and plant and mark them.
Most, I wish to allow the space in my heart for a sense of support and accord, and help, that is latent in this place.
I am realising more & more that we summon and invoke our own demons and adversaries.
And can invite help and love and sharing of the magic equally
This hill is looking on with an amused, wise smile.
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