Evening sunshine

Not many of these golden evenings left I guess with the nights drawing in.

Sunlight glistening on silage bags
Larch turning

Dried grass
The smell of apples
Orchards

Coming home in droves
Sheep and mangolds

Geese flying overhead
The first stars
Woodsmoke

Dew on autumn crocus
Timber seasoning

Voices in the woodshed
Leaves of Virginia creeper

Sawdust and cider presses
Bullocks' breath
The first frost

Teazles - so sharp and prickly
Behind the muckspreader,
Full moon rising

Caught at it
Two spiders in the bath

From a poem by James Crowden in his Blood Earth & Medicine collection