A moment in time
Dorothy Searle appreciates a mellowing beauty
It is Monday, 3 October, at 8.30 in the morning, and I am hanging out my laundry. I have a small whirligig line placed in a bed of low-growing alpines – plantaholics like me don’t have room for a lawn – and I am surrounded by apples, some still on the trees, others waiting to be picked up or left for the birds. There is little noise; the distant traffic, with its emergency vehicle sirens, and the planes taking off along the river don’t seem to intrude into the feeling of stillness. I am aware of natural sounds: robins singing their tentative autumn songs, sparrows chirping, the calls of rooks, a wood pigeon and a green woodpecker, and the chattering of a small child three gardens away. There is a smell of maturity, of over-ripe apples and fungi, and I feel the touch of the damp air on my face and the texture of the wet clothes on my hands.
You need to login to read subscriber-only content and/or comment on articles.