NOVEMBER – An Autumn Spectacle
On frosty mornings when the fog veils the fields with an eerie haunting loneliness, there is a spooky ethereal quality as if there is something hidden from me. However. there is no caveat alarm as a pall of grey hangs over the sky, where a thronging of geese, indistinguishable, were exploding into an echo of sound.
There is a belief that November is a rather unpleasant time of year. When things are disagreeable, they sometimes appear more real to us, but don’t be taken in. Years of study have convinced me that this is a wonderful time of year, for Mother Nature shows her wonders at every footstep I have taken, both in those years that have passed and life’s latest hour. Now is the time for me to take up the optical and take this opportunity to become closer to creatures that are otherwise illusive. Many birds including members of the thrush family, such as Fieldfares and Redwings, also Blackbirds, Goldcrests and Blackcaps are now on busy wings arriving from further north to enjoy the relatively milder winter climate with food being plentiful and snow and ice rare. The Blackcaps are a beautiful singing bird and a specialist in the propagation of the berries of the mistletoe.
As I halted to watch the leaves fall preparing for winter, I observed how they don’t fall randomly but in a strict order from top to bottom. The lower branches still have their whole compliment of leaves; However, nutrition rises from the roots, and the lower branches are the first and last stop for all the goodness that flows. But there is a parable here, perhaps we too should also stay close to our roots.
Soon the sun began to break through and ease a mysterious and beautiful light that shines in its purity, where umbrellas of the giant hogweed loomed out of the mist clothed in frost. Here I can hear the voice of a blackcap, his song is a continuous out-pouring of sweet and harsher notes that rain down upon me. Here in the hurly-burly of the woods the squirrels are gathering fallen nuts, preparing for the hardships of winter. There are signs that a hedgehog has been furkling amidst the leaf litter which shelters a wealth of wildlife. Where snails, woodlice, beetles, centipedes and slugs survive, with mosses and ferns all around. Where late waxcap toadstools are abundantly on display, and with just a little sunshine drawing out swarms of the tiny dancers of the winter gnats, this completes a magical scene.
The cumulus clouds are now rising in brilliant white cauliflower mounds. With Maverick’s brisk and cheerful readiness, he spots two little dogs heading his way. Suddenly with lightning-fast friendship, Bono and Fido tumble and play with earnest intent. Maverick being as sharp as a tack would relish for the incomparable pleasure of discovery, his playfulness is therapeutic, and I marvel at the spectacle. He then heads towards the owner, “I don’t have anything for you,” she says. I tell her “You do, you have hands.” She smiles and leans forward to greet him, ruffling his curls and patting him gently. I’m glad Maverick is no longer timorous, but now before my weaker nature could complain we headed for home, where Maverick lazed in his cosy bed in an efete way all afternoon. I suspect Bono and Fido did the same. I truly hope we meet upon them again on one of our many adventures.
