I woke to gold light streaking across the tps of the maize in the field outside my window. The light touches inside the tops of the corn sparking up the bright green of the leaves – the contrast is wonderful.
Above are the bottoms of purple-shot clouds, floating over the field like pot-bellied ships, coming out of the ocean to the south-west and shadowing the corn to bring the colours of darkness as well as light.
Above the clouds is the bright-washed blue of the early autumn sky.
The birds sing. Not the dawn chorus of early summer. This singing is more thoughtful. Autumn is the harbinger of winter, the time of harvest and the garden, the hedgerows, are full of berries, glittering rubies and garnets hanging on the trees in the autumn morning. The birds know. As I stand in the kitchen making the morning tea I watch them on the elder bush, feasting on the dark purple berries, building up their strength for the winter months to come. They sing now of the inward time, of holding together for the coming spring.
Spring follows winter, summer follows spring, autumn follows summer and winter follows autumn … so round the cycle of the year again, and again. And the golden light on the corn presages the changes.