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Oh to be in Dorset now that autumn's here

It's that luscious time of year when late summer turns to autumn.

Far from being sad that the leaves are changing colour, the perennial plants are dying back and the days are getting shorter, I'm filled with warmth, contentment and the knowledge that the cycle of life carries on going around and round.

There is mist circling above Bluebell Hill.


I can see the breath escaping from the cattle's nostrils.


And the hedges are heavy with fruit like blackberries to treasure and belladonna to avoid.


The smell of chrysanthemum is a top note to combat the lows of rotting vegetation. The maize is still to be harvested, conkers yet to be played with and filberts to munch on. There are deliveries of logs in people's driveways.

Among the elderberries and haws, great rosehips hang like precious pendants.

The changing call of the wood pigeon and the croak of the raven signal that the end of the year will soon be here.

And while the earth begins to prepare for its slumber and so many l…

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