Journal
A November walk home
Walking home this afternoon, I kept stopping. The cotoneaster has flung itself across someone’s garden wall, each leaf bright against the white paint. Rose hips catching the low light. Three types of lichen on the apple tree - grey-green filigree, pale dust, something that looks like tiny antlers.
This is the month for gatherers. Everything that’s left is concentrated now - the last colour before winter, the shapes of things revealed.
At home, I laid the oak leaves out on white paper to really see them - rust and copper and that particular brown that only November makes.
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