Autumn blooms under the hedgerows, the dried and hollowed leaves curled in tight yellow and brown fists, the squirrel sucking the juice from bold, red, haws, and lime green acorns brushed in neat piles. In the harvest field rooks and crows call it forward, lustily gleaning the freshly sown seeds before lifting and whirling across the land as the harvest raised dust before. The bare brown earth is now punctuated by the bold white strutting seaside sounds of gulls, put to clattering flight by the taunting rooks.
Down my lane 