A handful of raspberries

I was sitting outside having a cup of tea at the weekend. There was a rustle overhead, and I looked up expecting to see a squirrel or a blackbird. But it was not an animal disturbing the leaves; it was the autumn. A leaf fell past my nose.

It’s September, and the countryside seems changed overnight. Conkers carpet the lawn; the Downs are softly blue; winter crops sprout in the fields; and mildew creeps across the veg patch.

In the kitchen I am making lots of jam: raspberry jam (crimson and tart), and damson cheese (purple and potent). Soon it will be time for stews, soups and woolly jumpers. But not yet, not while there are still handfuls of raspberries to pick.