Youngest in a wood last week
That slight feeling of foreboding as we move towards November is simmering, as ever, at the back of my consciousness. The ‘w’ word is looming -the time when I tend to feel at best rather flat and at worst like a hedgehog with a hangover who was just rudely awoken by a Roman candle. The dahlias have drooped, the roses are on their last gasp and even my sedum’s looking seedy. Weeks of slate grey skies lie ahead. Winter is approaching.