The little lane along the back of the village looks so pretty in its autumnal colours. The beech leaves lie curled along the roadside and the ferns are peeking out from the banks. Leaves flutter gracefully down and settle amongst others until a breeze lifts them and they rustle along. Further along the lane there is a bridle path and as it hasn't rained for a while the mud is hard and unyielding and the leaves lie undisturbed. The temptation to kick through them is irresistable and for a few moments I am a child again, with only the sheep in the fields as my witness. Soon there will be no leaves and the branches will lie bare against the sky.
The little lane along the back of the village looks so pretty in its autumnal colours. The beech leaves lie curled along the roadside and the ferns are peeking out from the banks. Leaves flutter gracefully down and settle amongst others until a breeze lifts them and they rustle along. Further along the lane there is a bridle path and as it hasn't rained for a while the mud is hard and unyielding and the leaves lie undisturbed. The temptation to kick through them is irresistable and for a few moments I am a child again, with only the sheep in the fields as my witness. Soon there will be no leaves and the branches will lie bare against the sky.
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