Dear reader...

RETURNING FROM MY summer holiday, I feel a sense of new beginnings. As we move through September, nature echoes my feelings: the harvest is already home, and hedgerow and orchard fruits hang heavy and ripe for picking. Nature’s provisions have been made for the year, and it is time for the cycle to begin once again. Reinvigorated by my break, my mind is full of plans for the coming months. Some are uncomplicated: make chutney with the glut of unripe tomatoes autumn brings and take winter coats from their summer rest and put them back to work. Other plans are more elaborate: learn a new craft and make an early start on knitted gifts for the festive season. They will not all come to fruition, but that does not matter. Dreaming them up is a pleasure in itself. Something I relish is the thought of choosing from the pile of books on my bedside table (there are at least eight waiting to be read). I do not feel pressured though. As the nights draw in, there will be plenty of time to lose myself in their tales. They sit like a still life, with varying weights of spine facing me. I like looking at them, each one with its own style; some richly coloured, others with gold lettering or an illustration implying their content. It is a pleasing arrangement. But for now, as the warmth of the summer lingers, and without need for my coat, I am drawn back outdoors. I know the books will wait for me...