Autumn Abundance - Wandering, Wondering and Gathering
It´s that time again, the real heat of summer has gone. Summer nights are cooler now and a new season hangs around. It´s gathering time, heavy red and gold pomegranates decorate the trees. Splitting open, their ruby red jewels burst towards the sun. Autumn´s almost here but summer´s not really left, the reddish-brown earth is still baked hard.
Walnuts and almonds drop from their drying furry coat of green. Apples and pears lie on the dead grass and enormous pale green quinces weigh down the trees. A few late stray figs, aubergine coloured and pear shaped still can be found.
The summer heat converted into natures abundance, there for the taking. It´s a sad time, autumn the end of summer, yet also a glad time of awe and wonder at the bounty of nature that surrounds me.
The never-ending cycle of life from the barrenness of winter to the vibrancy of spring flowers and the suffocating heat of summer to its death, and fruit of its harvest then to begin again.
Each season is unique every year is different. This year, my fifteenth autumn in Andalucia is the hottest and driest. Summer lingers, fading slowly. Autumn is trying to get a hold yet failing. Olives are shriveling on the trees desperate for rain.
I wander the lanes and olive groves and wonder at creation that extends to the horizon and beyond. My pockets bulge with my gatherings of the day and I´m at peace in my adopted home.
Walnuts and almonds drop from their drying furry coat of green. Apples and pears lie on the dead grass and enormous pale green quinces weigh down the trees. A few late stray figs, aubergine coloured and pear shaped still can be found.
The summer heat converted into natures abundance, there for the taking. It´s a sad time, autumn the end of summer, yet also a glad time of awe and wonder at the bounty of nature that surrounds me.
The never-ending cycle of life from the barrenness of winter to the vibrancy of spring flowers and the suffocating heat of summer to its death, and fruit of its harvest then to begin again.
Each season is unique every year is different. This year, my fifteenth autumn in Andalucia is the hottest and driest. Summer lingers, fading slowly. Autumn is trying to get a hold yet failing. Olives are shriveling on the trees desperate for rain.
I wander the lanes and olive groves and wonder at creation that extends to the horizon and beyond. My pockets bulge with my gatherings of the day and I´m at peace in my adopted home.
