Looking out my window, all I can see is green and gold against a pale blue sky the colour of chicory flowers. The cherry plum leaves are just falling, the sycamore hasn't coloured yet. Walking up the lane the ash leaves make a pale yellow carpet, the horse chestnut golden brown. Hazel leaves are butter yellow but perhaps it is the field maple that gives the hedge the glorious colour. Last night's mist has gone and today is crisp and bright. I can hear the crows that gather on the newly cultivated fields. Last week we picked sloes ready for sloe gin; they are in the freezer as they work best if a frost has got to them, and we haven't really had one yet here.
