So here it is, one of my favourite seasons. Autumn. The colours are as bright and happy as those of Spring. Unfortunately, it is all too short. Just one gust of wind and the leaves, that were so colourful and gay dancing in the breeze, are suddenly clinging to the lawn all brown and ugly, the trees left naked and waiting for better times.

The urge to get in the garden and tidy up is huge, however, I am trying hard to resist. It can be so cold and wet and horrid out there. When it’s not raining it is so bitterly cold that you have to put so many layers on, then, if you try to bend over you end up headfirst in the flower bed. I say flower bed but what remains is a patch of overgrown and rotting plants that in the summer had wonderful and splendid colourful flowers, that, let’s be honest, was mostly hidden by the magnificent white splendour of the bindweed ‘flower’. Now it is brown and dead still all tangled in other unrecognisable undergrowth.

So with Autumn, today comes a clear bright sunny day. I look out the window and contemplate how warm it might be with no hint of cloud. First I need to find those wellies. The lawn or perhaps a better description would be grass is greener now than it has been since April, possibly because it is now about a foot high and soaked, holding on to the moisture as if a drought is imminent. After searching the utility room and the porches at the back and front of the house I come to realise the underused wellies are staring at me through the window from the outside welly holder. Upside down and covered in cobwebs. How to I get to them. I have to wear suitable shoes just to get them within reach. I open the patio doors slowly and get a rush of bitter cold air slap my face. The dog rushes out to the edge of the patio where the foot long grass starts. Cocks his leg up a bicycle helmet that’s been discarded by some child in warmer times. Then before I can regather my senses he darts back in and lies on his warm bed, looking up at me as if to say close the door. “Is it coffee time yet?” comes a voice from the kitchen, “yes I think it must be” I say, closing the door. Autumn I realise is best enjoyed through the window.