Hitchwood in Autumn
Wrapped in a roll neck and scarf. Adorning walking boots that still rub my heels. Pop, crack and crunch, of leaves, twigs and clay shooting. No cars, passersby or phone service. An excitable dog ignoring all requests to please (please) stop rolling in the mud. Striking greens, yellows and golden browns. Wandering. Wondering. Sloping hills and big steps over logs. A peeking sun. Thick foliage and clearings. The remains of possible outhouses. Fresh air. Stillness. Calm. Home.
This is Hitchwood in Autumn.